Can't Fight This Feeling
by Lamia Astaroth
Summary: NOTE UP! He kissed me deeply, and I felt my heart soar. No one can know, he whispered, and my heart exploded. SLASH KyleStan. FINALLY updated. Read and Review!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-After reading so many Kyle/Stan fics, I was inspired to write one of my own. I'm really excited about it; I've never written a solid romance fic before. Of course, since it _is_ me, there's going to be lots of angst, because I love that! And the boys are all in their junior year, so that makes them about 17 years old.

Before you read, I just want to make the summary understood: Kyle and Stan are together, but it is a secret, because they (more Stan than Kyle) do not want their friends and families to find out, because of fear that they will be cast out and hated.

Since I cannot just say, "Okay, they're together," this chapter is a prologue to show how it all came together. And the whole story will be written in Kyle's POV.

I got both the title and main idea for this story from the REO Speedwagon song "Can't Fight This Feeling." Okay...and if you read, please review!

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Clarity of mind means clarity  
of passion, too; this is why a great  
and clear mind loves ardently and  
sees distinctly what it loves.  
-Blaise Pascal

The meeting of two personalities  
is like the contact of two chemical  
substances: if there is any  
reaction, both are transformed.  
-Carl Jung

At last my heart's an  
open door. And my secret  
love's no secret anymore.  
-Calamity Jane: _Calamity Jane_

I can't fight this feeling any  
longer. And yet I'm still  
afraid to let it show. What  
started out as friendship  
has grown stronger. I  
only wish I had the  
strength to let it show.  
-REO Speedwagon "Can't Fight This Feeling"

**

* * *

**

**PROLOGUE**

Saying that I was amazed when Stan invited me over to spend the night at his house would have been an understatement. I was freaking _floored. _After all, it _was_ a Saturday night, and that was, as everyone in school knows, the day that Stan and Wendy always, _always_ go out.

That started about three months ago, when Stan and Wendy began going out again for the first time since fourth grade. I remember the date exactly; before it was "Stan and Wendy Night," it used to be "Stan and Kyle Night." Of course, what _we_ did was probably a hell of a lot different than what he and Wendy do. What they do on those dates, well...I can never really bring myself to ask what they do; it grosses me out.

Maybe that's when I really found out how I felt about Stan; me getting sick whenever he tried to tell me how far he'd gotten with Wendy. At first, I thought that it was nothing more than "too much information," but it wasn't. It never was. Every time, it was jealousy, because it was _her_ and not _me_. I know that may sound _way_ fucked up, but I couldn't help it--still can't, actually. That feeling was always _there_; whenever Stan was around Wendy...hell, whenever he did so much as talk about her.

In addition to my insane jealousy towards Wendy, there was always that one little fact that showed me that I might just have feelings for my best friend: in my entire life, all seventeen years, I have never once had a girlfriend. My other friend, and I use the word "friend" loosely, Eric Cartman, says it's because I'm a "fucking ugly Jew," which is not true, by the way. Except for the Jew part. I'm seriously not ugly, as vain as that sounds. I'm just...short, and I'll admit it. I've been five foot four since the seventh grade.

Anyway, the fact that I've never had a girlfriend has been weighing on my mind for the past month or so. In all honesty, girls have never appealed to me, no matter _how_ hot they might have been. Whenever I would consider asking out a girl to a dance or what-not, I would feel (get this!) _guilty_, like I would be cheating on Stan, or something. Weird, I know.

That was when it hit me--this was exactly two weeks and one day ago. I had a crush on Stan. My _best friend_ Stan! Not just a little school girl crush, either; it was, like, _love_. After all, what else could you call getting butterflies and blushing whenever your best friend looked at you? It sure as hell wasn't "friendship love." But there was no way he would love me back; he was with Wendy, and he was _straight_ (well, that's what I had thought).

When I first arrived at Stan's house, he invited me in and we instantly began playing on his Game Sphere 2000, which he had gotten for Christmas the year before. His parents weren't home; they were off watching some boring-ass movie at the Cineplex--a three and a half hour long boring-ass movie, which meant they wouldn't be home until about midnight.

After an hour and a half of playing video games, we gave up, exhausted. "Video games really take a lot outta' you," he said, leaning on the armrest of his couch as though he was about to pass out.

"Yeah," was all I said in reply. I still could not look at him without getting those damn nervous butterflies. At least I didn't get them when he talked to me.

"Hey," he said, straightening up on the couch. "Can I talk to you?"

The way he asked the question made my heart pound wildly in my chest. A shit load of questions flew through my mind, from, _"Oh God, does he know about my crush?" _to _"Is he going to confess his love for me?"_ I found all of them to be highly unlikely.

"Sure," I replied, standing up from the floor where I had been sitting and plopping beside him on the couch. _Don't get too close_, I warned myself, and scooted a slight bit away from him. I could smell the cologne on him: Calvin Klein's Contradiction. It smelled so good...I scooted even a bit farther from him.

"I think that Wendy's going to break up with me," he said, the words coming out so quickly that it took me a while to decipher them.

Well, I hadn't been expecting him to say _that_. While my mind was cheering, _Oh, God, I hope so,_ I forced my voice to ask, "What makes you think that? I mean, did she say something?"

Stan shook his head. "No, she hasn't...but I feel like she's losing interest in me. Like she may be interested in someone else." He blue eyes brightened for a second, and then returned to normal. "Am I being paranoid?"

I shrugged. "Probably. You've always been freaked out over losing her. Don't worry about it. She'd be an idiot to dump you, anyways."

He grinned sheepishly and, even in the dim lighting of the room, I could have sworn I saw a blush lingering over his cheeks. "Thanks, dude. That makes me feel a lot better."

I smiled back at him. After a few seconds of us smiling at each other, he must have begun to feel awkward, because he tore his gaze from mine back to the television. "We haven't done this for a while," he said.

I looked at him in confusion. "Uhh...done what?" I asked.

"Just, you know, hang out," he replied, still staring ahead of him. "It seems like I haven't seen a lot of you lately. What with Wendy, football, and school."

It was true; we hadn't seen a lot of each other. Like he said, he had a girlfriend, and that takes up about twenty hours of your day right there. He also had football and, being the starting quarterback--a big deal for a junior--he had tons of practices. And the only contact we had in school was passing each other in the halls and our Study Hall, since I was in all advanced classes, and he was not in any.

"I guess you're right," I replied, sounding like a total dumbass. But I had no idea of what to say. I loved the guy, after all. It's hard to talk to a crush, even if it _is_ your best friend.

"And I've..." he began, paused, then cleared his throat. "I've...missed you," he finished. "It sucks not having time to be with your best friend."

I smiled, glad that he was still staring at the television and could not see me grinning like a fool. "I know," I said. "I've missed you, too," I added, hoping that it did not sound as lovey-dovey to him as it had sounded to me. I supposed that it had not, because he did not say anything else nor did he look over at me. "But I understand...you've got your things and I've got mine," I said. "We're not supposed to be attached at the hip; we've got different lives."

He chuckled softly and I raised my eyebrows in confusion. I hadn't intended it to be funny. "You're right, Kyle," he said, leaning back on the couch and locking eyes with me. Surprisingly, there were no butterflies this time, and I was thankful for it. "But I shouldn't act like you don't matter to me."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. He had completely lost me. When had he ever acted that way towards me? I couldn't remember it; how could he?

He chuckled again, but there was no amusement in his laughter this time. "I've blown you off a lot to hang out with Wendy." I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued before I could even get a word out: "Saturday used to be our night to hang out, play video games...but we stopped doing that because I thought that Wendy and I needed a day. Since it couldn't be Friday, because of football practice, I chose Saturday. And I've felt guilty about it ever since."

I felt my chest tighten. "Hey, I understand," I said, trying my hardest not to leap over and embrace him with all my soul. "You've got a girlfriend who's important to you. I don't want to come between that."

He sniffed, and I thought his eyes were beginning to shine brightly. Was he crying? For me? "Why do you have to do that?" he asked.

"Do what?" I asked, staring at his eyes, trying to see if he truly was crying. Crying for me.

"Act like you don't care that I ignore you."

"I...I..." I stammered. I probably had said the word "I" about fifty times before he cut me off:

"Kyle," he whispered, shaking his head, and that one whispered word made me snap my mouth shut. "I'm sorry," he said, and I could see a lone tear slip from the corner of his eye. He wiped it away quickly. "You're my best friend...and I acted like you didn't matter..."

"No, no, you didn't," I told him, my voice cracking over each of the words. I hated to see him cry; it made _me_ want to cry. God, I _really_ did love him...but he didn't love me _that_ way...unless...

I reached my arms out and wrapped them around his torso in a tight embrace. He hugged me back; he seemed to have stopped crying, by what I could tell. He was so much bigger than me--five foot eleven and about thirty pounds heavier--that it was almost amazing that he didn't crush me. I inhaled the mix of his natural scent and Contradiction cologne and enjoyed the dizzying effect if had on me.

We stayed in that position for God only knows how long, hugging and taking in each other's presence. Suddenly very aware of how close we were becoming, the butterflies returned and I pulled back slightly. He did not loosen the tightness of his arms around my torso, however, and we were caught in a powerful gaze into one another's eyes.

This is where _it _happened; the best moment of my life, and one of the worst as well. I opened my mouth to say something, I'm not exactly sure what, and he leaned in, capturing my lips beneath his. My eyes widened for a moment, and then slid closed as the kiss deepened. All of that talk that I used to consider bullshit about the sparks and fireworks of a first kiss...well, let's just say that it isn't bullshit after all.

I had only been kissed once in my life--I was eight years old and it was a game of truth or dare, so it doesn't really count; I remember that it disgusted me (foreshadowing, maybe?)--but that kiss with Stan was the best thing that's ever happened to me.

He broke the kiss as suddenly as he had started it, breathing heavily. He wouldn't look me in the eye; he kept staring at my chest, as though unable to look at my face. I needed answers; where had the kiss come from? And had he felt what I had felt? "Stan?" I said, softly. "What--"

"I'm sorry, Kyle," he apologized, and I didn't understand why he felt the need to do so. "I didn't mean to. It just...felt...right."

Not knowing how to respond, I followed my instincts and leaned in for another kiss. As soon as I did, my mind was filled with images of Stan pulling away and looking at me in disgust. Luckily, my thoughts were nothing more than paranoia, because he did not pull away. I felt him kissing me back and my heart was soaring. I had wanted that for so long, and I finally had it. He did not need to say he loved me; I could feel it.

"Kyle," he gasped, pulling out of the kiss and staring at me with his beautiful blue eyes. I smiled at him, urging him to continue. _Tell me you love me_, my mind silently begged. Although I had felt it, I still needed to hear it. "No one can know," he whispered, and my heart exploded.

I opened my mouth to ask why, but nothing would come out. I coughed, then asked, "What? Wh-Why?"

"Because..." I saw his Adam's apple move up and down as he swallowed. "...they wouldn't understand. They would hate us--"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, trying to make my voice louder, but it still came out barely about a whisper.

"Our friends, our families...they would hate us for this...they can't know," he replied, closing his eyes and resting his forehead upon mine. "I want this so badly...but they can't...they just _can't_ know."

And that's why what was the best moment in my young life ended up hurting me more than I had ever thought possible. I'm trying to fall asleep on the cot next to Stan's bed, but I can't. While I want more than anything for us to be together, I know that he is right. My parents--well, my mother, mainly--would never accept us. And our classmates would beat up on us every time we walked through the halls.

Which is why I won't tell. Stan and I _are_ together. But only when we're alone. And that is fine with me. I guess...

_To Be Continued..._

Author's Note (continued)-I hope that's a good prologue, and I really hope I didn't rush anything. Since I'm in the midst of writing three different stories right now, I'm not sure how quickly each chapter will come out.

Now that you're here, please click the box below and review!


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks to PoisonCherry69, Out Of Tune, Faery Goddyss, E2K, Leela's tears, Brat Child2, who reviewed the Prologue. Thanks guys! ::hugs::

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Love is an irresistible desire  
to be irresistibly desired.  
-Robert Frost

In time we hate that  
which we often fear.  
-William Shakespeare

Have you no shame  
Don't you see me?  
You know you've got  
Everybody fooled.  
-Evanescence "Everybody's Fool"

I ask myself could this be love  
Or just a fantasy? Could this  
be love or just a memory  
of the two of us together  
lifetime friends forever  
You and me in unity  
Friendship and love.  
-Forte "Could This Be Love"

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

I awoke at about eight in the morning to the sound of Stan's mother pounding on the door to wake us up. Stan's got to get to church, and I've got to get back home, where I fully intend on going straight to bed. Stan groans in annoyance and sits upright on his bed, rubbing at his sleep-filled eyes.

I stare at him for a moment. His dark hair looks so cute with the "just out of bed" look. I remember when he used to wear that hat all of the time; I'm glad he doesn't anymore--he's got gorgeous hair. He catches eyes with me, smiles, then stands up. I watch as he leaves the bedroom and goes into his bathroom, still rubbing at his eyes.

I'm in a daze. Did last night really happen? That first kiss, that second kiss, and--this was after Stan told me that our "relationship" had to remain a secret--that fifteen minute period of a hot-and-heavy make-out session. Imagine, me, the guy who's never had a girlfriend, not so much as a meaningful kiss, going from nothing to so much in less than an hour. And it feels great, except I think that I might have a hickey on my neck. Thank God it's cold here; I'll have a good excuse to wear a scarf.

I climb out of the cot and walk over to the mirror on Stan's wall, above his dresser. I inspect my neck thoroughly and find that, yes, I have a hickey--a nice, bright, red one--just above my collarbone. It was totally worth it, though.

I hear a door creak and I turn around just in time to see Stan enter the room, fully dressed in a nice outfit for church. I grin at him, running a hand through my curly red hair. "Hey, you look ni-ice," I say, teasingly, putting a good emphasis on the word "nice."

He grins back at me. "Heh, thanks." He tugs with irritation at his tie. "I hate getting dressed up like this. God invented jeans, after all; why can't I wear them to church?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "That's a good point," I say, in between chuckles. I take a step towards him--the bottoms of my sweat pants are dragging on the floor; that's how long they are on me. He looks at me understandingly, turns, and closes the door to his room. I cock my eyebrow at him as he locks it. He really is freaked out over someone finding out about us.

He turns back to me, walks over to where I'm standing, leans down, and gives me a gentle kiss on my forehead. When he turns back around, making to unlock and open the door, I gawk at him in awe. He really is paranoid if he locks the door to his room just to give me a small peck on the forehead.

"Come on," he says, as he pulls open the door. "Mom says that I can drop you off at your house before church if we leave now."

I sigh inwardly, but nod. "All right," I reply, halfheartedly. I can feel his eyes on me as I collect my select few things from around his bedroom--the clothes that I was wearing yesterday as well as a clean pair for today.

Out of mere reflex, I turn away from him as I begin to get dressed. Even as I pull down my sweatpants and pull on my clean pair of jeans, I can feel him watching me. And it does not bother me, I find. In fact, I almost like it.

Feeling a bit more comfortable, I turn around to face him as I slip off the t-shirt I had slept in. "So," I begin as I reach to the floor to pick up my clean shirt, "your parents are actually going to let you drive the car?"

"Yeah, can you believe it?" he asks, widening his eyes in mock amazement. I chuckle at this, more of the fact that, even though he's had his license for over a year, he's only driven the car a total of, maybe, eight times by himself.

After I pull on my t-shirt, I scoop up my used clothes from the floor and stuff them into my bag. "Okay, ready," I say, pulling the strap of the bag over my shoulder. He does not move, however, even in spite of my comment.

He stares at me for a second and, for a moment, I think he is going to close the door again and give me another kiss, but, no; he nods and says, "Great. Let's go." He turns from me and walks out, leaving me standing there, clutching the strap of my bag tightly beneath my fingers.

Wow, I've never seen Stan look so nervous. I hear him call my name from the bottom of the steps and I begin walking out of the room, but not before grabbing my green coat from the door handle and slipping it on.

It's not until I reach the top of his stairs that I remember Stan's gift that is embedded oh-so-nicely in my neck. In one quick, clean motion, I flip the collar of my jacket up, hiding it from the world. _What does _that_ remind you of?_ I ask myself humorlessly, walking down the stairs. I skip over every other stair until I reach the last stair. I jump off and land a few feet away from the front door with a soft _poomph._

"Stan's waiting for you outside, Kyle." I turn toward the kitchen and see Sharon--when I turned eleven, she insisted that I call her by her first name; same goes for Randy--sitting at the breakfast table over a bowl of cereal and sliced bananas.

"Thanks," I say, flashing her an innocent smile. She smiles back, and it almost pains me, because she has absolutely _no_ idea that I got all the way to first base with her only son. But maybe it's better that way; I don't want her to hate me…

As I walk out the front door, I am instantly greeted with the sound of a roaring engine. Stan honks the horn at me impatiently, giving me a "Will you hurry the hell up?" look. I grin and, as though in slow motion, gradually placing one foot in front of the other. I used to use this same bit with my mother when I was thirteen, when she would yell at me to get to the bus stop. I stopped that after one day, though. She had yelled at me to "stop being such a smartass!"

I see Stan grin, shake his head, and then casually flip me the bird. I clutch at my heart in mock hurt, giving him my best _How could you?_ look. He grins even wider, and I love him even more. And I love how we can still tease each other, like the best friends we are; secret relationship or not.

Finally, I had had enough taunting; I sprinted to his car--a 2001 Dodge Neon, which had belonged to his sister, Shelly, until she went off to college--and climbed into the passenger seat. "You're so fucking animated," he says as soon as I slam the door shut.

I run a hand through my curly red hair, which has gotten pretty long, but I have no intention of cutting it. It's like a trademark or something. "Yeah, I know," I say, smirking.

As he pulls out of his driveway, I reach forward and turn up the volume on the radio. Stan does not seem up for talking right now, and if there's anything I don't want, it's an awkward silence. The radio is on 99.7 FM. I stifle a laugh; Stan really enjoys listening to oldies. Not that there's anything particularly _wrong_ with that. Maybe it's just not my thing. I instantly turn the volume back down.

Every so often I throw a glance toward Stan. I can't help it; he's so quiet. That's totally not like him. Although, how often does a night like last night happen? Now that I think about it, I have no idea of what to say, either...maybe the silence is best.

In a matter of minutes--although, because of the silence, it feels like an hour--my house comes into view. I shift around in my chair, ready to hop out as soon as he comes to a stop by my driveway.

Suddenly, Stan slows down, and then comes to a full stop, five houses down from mine. _What the hell?_ I think, glancing over at him, puzzlement etched across my features. "Umm, Stan," I begin, cautiously, as though Stan's gone completely crazy, "my house is a few--"

"I know," he says, cutting me off. Slowly, almost unsurely, he removes his right hand from the black-leather steering wheel and places it gently upon my left hand, which is resting on my left thigh. I can still feel the warmth from the water from when he washed his hands this morning. He gives my hand a quick squeeze, and then returns his hand to the steering wheel.

Frowning, still staring at my left hand, I inhale deeply. "What are we going to do?" I ask him, voicing the question that had been lingering in my mind all throughout the night; the question that had asked itself over and over in my dreams. What _are_ we going to do?

"About what?" he asks, and it takes all my energy not to have my jaw drop down to the floor of the car. How can he even ask that? Does he have absolutely _no_ idea what's going on?

"About what?" I repeat, my voice dripping with shock. "About...about _this_!" I reply, gesturing to him, and then to myself. "What's going to happen? I mean..." I trail off, not able to find the right words.

"I...I thought I told you last night," he says, sounding surprised that I do not remember. Oh, I remember all right, but what he had told me wasn't exactly enough. "We can't tell anyone," he continues, staring directly into my eyes. "People...they won't...accept it," he says, stumbling over his words.

Suddenly my head feels too heavy; I let it flop down so that I am looking at my lap. "I know," I say, and I _do_ know. "But what about...Wendy?" I ask. The whole "Wendy" situation is what really bothers me most of all. When he does not reply, I add, "She _is_ your girlfriend. That might be kind of...awkward."

He shakes his head. "I'm not breaking up with her, if that's where you're going. If I break up with the hottest girl in school, people are going to wonder what the hell's wrong with me. And then they'll find out...and..."

"You're really freaked out about people finding out, aren't you?" I ask, lifting my head. It sounds more like a statement of fact rather than a question, however.

"Of _course_ I am," he replies, as though it is the most obvious thing ever. "Do you know what could happen if people found out? I'd be kicked off the football team; Coach hates fags, dude. And football's all I've got going for me. If I lose that, there's no way I'll get into college. I _need_ a football scholarship, Kyle. You've gotta' understand; I'm not as smart as you. Football is all I've got to help me have a future."

He pauses, then hangs his head, as though in shame. "I'm not doing well in school."

I stare at him in awe; my eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets--I can see them in one of the rear-view mirrors. I've never known that he was doing badly in school; he always tells me _everything_. "How--" My voice disappears for a moment. I clear my voice, then begin again. "How bad is it?"

"You know how I need at least a B- to stay on the football team?" I nod, and he continues: "I think...I _know_ I'm doing worse than that. I've gotten a warning from nearly every teacher about me needing to bring up my grades, and I've been trying, but--"

"Stan, do you want me to tutor you?" I ask, the words falling out of my mouth before I can even think about it myself. "It'd probably get me some good community service hours, too," I add, not wanting to seem too anxious to help.

He lifts his head and looks at me. "I don't think so, Kyle," he replies, and I am completely taken aback by _that_.

"What? Why not?" I ask. "I'm doing fine in my classes; I get everything. It's really no big--"

"Stop, Kyle," he interrupts, holding up his hand. "I shouldn't have even brought it up. And I don't want you to think that you _have_ to help me." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "And I don't want you to think that the only reason I...I kissed you last night was because I wanted help with school. Because...it's not why I did it. I care about you. So much." He lifts his right hand from the steering wheel again and places it on mine again.

Oh, God, butterflies again. But they're okay this time; I really don't mind anymore. I watch as Stan looks swiftly around the neighborhood for possible "spies," then leans in toward me, capturing my lips beneath his. It's so soft yet powerful that I can ignore the fact that he felt he had to make sure no one was looking before he did it.

He pulls away after a few seconds, sitting upright in his seat. He glances at the car's digital clock. "Shit," he murmurs. "My mom's gonna' kill me if I'm late for church." He puts the car back into "Drive" then moves the car up the street until it's parked in front of my house. "I'll see you later," he says as I grab my bag from the backseat.

"Yeah, I'll see you," I reply, turning the handle and opening the door to the car. "Hey," I add, turning back toward him. "How long does it take for a hickey to disappear?"

He grins, a faint blush lingering on his cheeks. "Depends," he says. "Shouldn't be more than a couple of days, though. Just...wear a collared shirt to school until it goes away. And keep the collar popped."

I chuckle, shaking my head at his comment. "Right, right. Okay, see ya'." I slam the door shut. He gives me a quick wave before pulling away from my driveway. It only takes a matter of seconds until he's disappeared from my sight, but I stand there on the curb for minutes after, staring. I almost wish I wasn't Jewish, just so I could go to church with him.

I roll my eyes. _Don't get obsessive, Broflovski,_ I tell myself, turning and walking up the walkway to my house. I reach into my bag and fumble around a moment before my hand brushes something cold and metal; my house key. I grab it and pull it out of my bag, then unlock the front door.

Before I open the front door, however, I tug the collar of my jacket up until it touches the base of my chin. If I know my mother, and I do, even the hint of something "unnatural" on me will catch her attention and if _that_ happens, everything Stan wants goes right into the shitter.

Feeling satisfied that my neck is covered, I open the front door and walk inside. "Kyle, honey, is that you?" I hear my mother ask.

_No offense, Mom, but who the hell else _would_ it be? I opened the door with a key, for God's sake_, I think, sarcastically. "Yeah, Mom," I call back. "It's me. Stan just dropped me off."

"That's great, booby," she says, calling me by the nickname I've had ever since I was born. It doesn't bother me as much as it usually did--mainly because of the fact that she doesn't call me it in front of other people.

I walk into my kitchen and grab myself a banana from out of a bowl from the counter. "How was your night?" Mom asks, walking into the kitchen, holding the newspaper in her hand.

_You want the truth? _I want to ask, biting into the banana before the sentence can actually come out. I shrug. "Aw-ight," I say through a mouthful of food. I swallow. "Nothing special; video games...whatever."

"That's nice," she replies, and I can't really tell if she was ever truly listening to my response. "Did you finish all your homework for tomorrow?"

"Yes, Mom," I sigh, sounding pretty irritated. But who can blame me? I've been getting straight A's--with the exception of one B--throughout middle _and _high school, and she still won't shut the hell up about how "easy it is to slip up." God, it's like she can't--or won't--trust me at all.

She frowns, pointing an angry finger at me. "Don't use that tone with me, Kyle Broflovski. It's like I told you on your first day of high school: make one mistake, and all colleges will know. You want to have a good future, don't you?"

I can't listen to this anymore. "Of course, Mom," I say, softly, tossing the banana peel into the trash can. As I begin to leave the kitchen, I toss over my shoulder, "I'm going to take a walk."

Even though my back is turned, I can see my mother's brow creasing. "Where're you going?" she asks, sounding both unsure and curious.

"Just...for a walk. Nowhere, really." Half true, half a lie. I am going for a walk, but I know exactly where I'm going. I just hope I can get to the church before Stan gets inside...slightly unlikely, considering he had a car, but it's not as though I live miles away from the church, or anything.

Not waiting for a response, I walk out of the kitchen and out of the house. As soon as I leave the house, the desire to see him overtakes me and I break out into a full sprint, dashing across the lawn and down the sidewalk.

I know that if anyone were to see me and know the reason I was running, they would classify me as a full-up stalker. But it's not just the fact that I want to see Stan that spurs me on; I want to see his reaction toward someone else--his girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger.

He told me, a few weeks ago, that whenever he goes to church, he waits outside for Wendy so that they can sit together. I want--no, _need_--to see if he treats her differently. I need to see if he loves her less, now that he knows how we feel about each other. _He didn't say that he loves you,_ my mind reminds me.

I know he didn't say it. He didn't have to. I could feel the heat when we kissed--there's no way he couldn't have felt it, too. And he had promised to spend more time with me...every weekend, he had said, we are going to have "us" time. Maybe I can even convince him that me tutoring him is a good idea. If there's anything I don't want to have happen, it's Stan having his future crushed.

A stitch forms in my side; that's what I get for not working out as much as I should. But it's not really my fault--school comes first in the Broflovski household. The thought of Stan with Wendy keeps me going. The pounding of my sneakers on the pavement forms a rhythm that takes my mind off of the stitch.

Finally, I see the cross on the top of the church, and my sprinting slows to a fast-paced walk. _Stan's probably already inside,_ I think, but my legs do not stop. To my complete surprise, I see Stan standing outside of the building, his back to me. I come to a full stop when I see that he is not alone; Wendy is walking up to him--obviously she has just arrived.

She walks up to Stan and instantly leans in for a quick peck. Jealousy overtakes me, and I'm tempted to run up to that skank and yell, "He doesn't love you! He doesn't love _you_!" I cannot move, however; my feet won't let me. Stan, to my dismay, accepts her kiss and even returns it.

For a moment, I almost feel sorry for Wendy. As bitchy as she can be, she doesn't deserve to be lied to by her boyfriend. She _does_ seem to care for him; it would kill her if she found out what happened last night. No one deserves a phony relationship--especially people who really care for the other person.

As Stan and Wendy disappear inside, I suddenly find myself very alone. There is no one else on the street--there's just...me. And all sorrow I feel for Wendy erases itself in one clean swipe. Because she may be being lied to, but at least she has him whenever she likes.

She can be with him when she wants...she's never alone. She never feels like the one she loves will refuse her because of how others will think. She never has to worry about holding his hand, kissing him, even thinking about him. She never has to feel unloved.

The lucky bitch.

I think that's the last time I'll ever feel sorry for her. Lifting my head, I turn from the church and walk down the sidewalk back to my house. It's easier to be miserable when no one can see you.

_To Be Continued..._


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Many thanks go out to those who reviewed: Megan Ann, Faery Goddyss, E2K, doogy, "Leela's Tears," and BratChild2. I love that you're all so supportive! Your reviews really keep me going.

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Jealousy is all the fun  
you think they had.  
-Erica Jong

Friendship often ends  
in love; but love in  
friendship-never.  
-Charles Caleb Colton

Help me if you can,  
I'm feeling down and I  
do appreciate you being  
'round. Help me get my feet  
back on the ground. Won't  
you please, please help me?  
-The Beatles "Help!"

I know she loves you  
and I can't interfere, so  
I just have to sit back and  
watch my world disappear.  
-Michelle Branch "If Only She Knew"

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO **

It's hard to believe that it's already been an hour. I've been sitting here alone for a whole hour, doing absolutely _nothing_. But what is there to do? Stan will be in church for an hour or two more, and then, since he _is_ with Wendy, there will be no getting to him.

I won't get a "hello" or a "what's up?" It'll be exactly how it was before last night: he'll be with Wendy, and I'll be the worn-out third wheel that isn't even good enough to be around the other two wheels. And that hurts...a lot. Not being good enough or noticeable enough to be with them. It hurts a hell of a lot.

But I'm not one to interfere. And maybe that's my problem; I'm keen to letting people walk all over me and then, when they're done, standing up and shouting after them, "Okay, have a nice day!" It sucks being a doormat, almost as much as it sucks being a third wheel.

Tears of loneliness burn in my eyes. For a moment, I wish that Stan had never done what he did. I wish that Stan had never kissed me. And I wish that I had never loved him the way that I do. But it's too late for those types of wishes; I'm-we're-in too deep.

So, like we agreed, we're to go along our lives, business as usual, and then, when no one's around, we're going to take advantage of our togetherness. Maybe, in time, I'll even be able to tell him how I really feel. I'll be able to say that I love him. And maybe he'll say it back. As lame as it sounds, when he does-if he does-I'll probably cry. God, if Cartman heard me say that, he'd call me the biggest fag he's ever seen. Heh, maybe I am...

I roll onto my side and re-adjust the headphones on my ears; I can hear the springs in my mattress groan as my weight is shifted. I glance at my watch; it's a little after nine o'clock. _Why do I even care what time it is?_ I ask myself. _Like I said, it's not like he's going to be available; he's got his girlfriend with him._

As soon as my mind thinks the word "girlfriend," I feel my stomach instantly form knots with itself. Part of it is from shame-shame from being the one who Stan cheated, and probably will continue to be cheating, with. What a slap in the face that would be for Wendy, huh? I can picture her face in my mind perfectly. Her high-pitched voice shrieking, _"You...with _Kyle!_ You fucking cheated on me with a...a _guy!Ouch. Painful.

The other part of my uncomfortable feelings is from jealousy. I know that I have no right to be jealous; Wendy was with Stan long before my feelings were even noticed. But, god_dammit_, I've never hurt so much.

It would have been bad enough if Stan had not returned my feelings, but it's ten times worse this way-he feels the same way for me as I do for him, but he refuses to acknowledge it to the world, as he does with Wendy. Why is it that she gets something so great? Something that she doesn't deserve?

Why is it that Stan is willing to admit (as a lie, nonetheless) that he loves her, but refuses to admit to something he really does feel? I know he doesn't want his life messed up, but I want to have him with me forever; not in secret...and especially not with a girl dangling off his arm.

Maybe I'm thinking about this too much. No, I _know_ I'm thinking about this too much. After all, I've been staring at this one spot on my ceiling for over half an hour, listening to "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day on my CD player. It's on repeat-I must have listened to it over ten times now. I can barely even hear the words over my thoughts.

Finally, I rip the headphones off of my head and sit upright on my bed, pressing the "Stop" button on my CD player. Why waste the battery if I'm not even going to listen to the song?

An idea springs into my mind. I flop down at my computer and double click on my e-mail icon. As soon as my Inbox appears, I click instantly on the "New Message" button. Out of pure reflex, I type Stan's e-mail address into the "Send to" bar.

_"Hey Stan,"_ I type. My fingers are shaking so badly that it takes me six tries to get the spelling right. _"I was just thinking, so I thought I'd send you an e-mail." _God, I sound like a fucking idiot. _"I just have to know something. About last night, when 'it' happened-"_ I've resorted to calling our kissing incident "it"; I feel guilty, like I'm breaking my promise to Stan or something, if I even think the words, "Stan and I kissed."

_"-what did it mean?" _I continue, my fingers flying over the keys as more and more questions pop into my head. _"I mean, how did _you_ feel about it? I know you said that you thought it 'felt right,' but what does that mean? Do you have feelings for me? Because I think you should know: I love you. I've loved you for a few weeks now. Maybe even longer. Do you love me? Is that why you're so freaked out about people finding out? Because you love me more than Wendy? Because I know you love me, if only a little. You do, don't you? You love me."_

I stop typing, lifting my hand from the keyboard and placing it onto the mouse. Instead of clicking the "Send" button, however, the mouse moves up and clicks on the black "X" on the top left corner of the screen.

The message disappears, gone forever, and my background appears where it was. My background is a picture of me, Stan, Kenny, and Cartman-whose shirt now reads "I Fuck Pigs", thanks to Photo Shop-at New Years last year. Stan and I are standing next to each other in the picture; his arm is draped around my shoulder and he's grinning. He looks so cute when he's smiling like that. That's why I made this my background-because of the way he's touching me, and the way he's smiling.

I close my eyes and let my head fall back so that I would be staring at the ceiling, if my eyes were open. I can't stop thinking about last night. The way we were all over each other, like we had been dating for months. He seemed so experienced, too, and it didn't feel weird. It felt...right.

I shiver and a chill is sent up my spine, then back down again. I cannot wait until this weekend; he said that we'd definitely get together one day. But he said that his parents are going to be home. I hope that doesn't make it too awkward. After all, that'd be the worst way for a parent to find out their son is fooling around with his best (guy) friend: walking in on them while they're making out. If it was my mom, she'd probably commit suicide or something.

I stand up from my computer and press the button to shut off the monitor-I'm too lazy to shut it completely down.

I walk out of my room and slump down the stairs, not skipping every other stair like I usually do. My mother-as anal retentive as she is-notices my sudden change in personality and asks from the living room, "What's wrong, boobala? You seem down."

Oh, Mom, you have _no_ idea. "No, I'm fine," I say instead. "I'm just tired-"

"Well, if you're tired, why not try going to bed an hour earlier?" she retorts. Ha, like _that'll_ happen. I may be tired, but I'm not one to fall asleep at, say, nine pm.

"Sure, Mom. Whatever you say," I reply, rolling my eyes. At least she cannot see me doing it; I hate lectures on me being a smartass.

I stroll absentmindedly into the kitchen, flicking on the light. What am I doing in here? I'm not hungry. Bored, yes, lonely, yes...hungry? Not in the least. Nevertheless, I find myself reaching for a half-empty-or half-full, depending on who you are-bag of Doritos.

I shove handful after handful into my mouth, only vaguely aware of the taste. My mind is replaying last night's events over and over in my mind. What could I have done differently? Should I have said something about my feelings these past few weeks? Should I have been mad that he doesn't want to tell? What...should...I...do?

_I don't know!_ my mind shouts at me, causing me to stop moving, my hand deep within the bag of chips. It's then that I realize that I _don't_ know. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if people are going to find out. And I don't know how he really feels.

I've never felt so lost.

When did love become so unwanted?

* * *

I'm on my way to the South Park Arcade. Stan called me from a nearby payphone about ten minutes ago. And I was shocked that he did. He said something about Wendy going shopping with Bebe, or whatever. The only thing I care about is that Wendy won't be circling Stan like some vulture.

"Hey Kyle!" I am instantly greeted with an overly-warm welcome by Stan. He's waving at me like a madman. Jesus, I thought he wanted us to lay low. He's waving me over to where he's standing-just in front of the South Park Arcade, which opened exactly two years ago.

Trying not to seem too eager, I casually stroll, hands in my pockets, over to where Stan, Kenny, and Cartman are standing. It's hard to believe that the four of us remained friends for so long. Usually friendships tear apart after a few years. But not us; we've managed to remain strong even throughout middle and high school. It's unbe-fucking-credible, especially with Cartman as part of the group.

"What's up, guys?" I ask, stopping just in front of the entrance. The one thing that I hate about our group is that I'm the shortest. Cartman's probably close to six feet-he's still a fatass, though...it's just more distributed-and Kenny's about five foot ten. It's sad...not only do I get made fun of by people-leaded mainly by a one Eric Cartman-for being Jewish, I've also got my small stature to add to the list.

"Not much. We've been waiting for you since we called," Kenny replied, pushing a stray blond hair out of his face. I doubt he's ever had his hair cut; it's almost at his mid-back. But girls seem to like it, so more power to him.

"Yeah, we could be inside playing now if you were actually able to come to church," Cartman says, crossing his arms. He hasn't changed much since we were kids. He's still a pompous, annoying, immature, fat jackass. And yet he's still part of our group. How, I'll never know.

"Well, you know, I would, but if there was any extra weight added to your bench, it would probably snap in two, and I don't want to break anything in God's house," I reply, causing Kenny and Stan to snicker quietly.

"Shut up, Jew!" Cartman snaps, looking down at me, his eyes narrow. "I'd hit you, but I don't think my hand will go that far down." He laughs at his own joke, as though he's some great fucking comedian.

Ouch, a short joke. There's one I haven't heard before. I open my mouth to reply, but I'm cut off by Stan: "Oh, go fuck yourself, Cartman," he says, and he says it in such a way that it's almost impossible to tell if he's joking around, or seriously standing up for me.

"Aww, Stan," Cartman says, mockingly, clutching at his heart. "That's sweet and all, but won't Wendy be upset if you're cheating on her with your little boyfriend?"

It's amazing that, even when he's being a complete dick, Cartman can hit it right on the money. "Right," I say with a chuckle. "Come on, 'honey,' let's go inside and play some video games," I say to Stan, holding out my arm. I know to everyone else I look like I'm playing around; it's great to be able to share something so secret with Stan. I think I might be able to live with this.

He grins, then takes my arm. "Why, thank you, 'sweetheart.' Let's go." We walk each other towards the door of the arcade, then turn to look back at them. Kenny is holding onto the window of the arcade to keep from falling down, he's laughing so hard. And the look on Cartman's face is the biggest Kodak moment I've ever seen; it's a look of confusion, horror, and total, complete disgust.

"You guys are the _biggest_ fags I've ever seen," he moans. Wow, did I call _that_, or what? Looks like Cartman's not the only psychic one here.

"You're just jealous 'cause you can't get someone as good as him," Stan remarks, cocking an eyebrow at Cartman.

"That's sick, dude," he replies, making a heaving sound as though about to throw up. "Why, out of all the guys around, would you choose that goddamn Jew to have a homosexual relationship with? Sick," he says again, letting his tongue flop out of his mouth in a unsettling way.

Stan lets go of my arm, without much protest, I notice, and says, "All right, guys. Let's go." As we follow him into the arcade, I can't help but wonder, _Was he just putting on an act? Because I know that I wasn't._

It looks like this is going to get confusing. Or maybe I'm just freaked out because I can't look at Stan anymore without getting the urge to throw my arms around him and kiss him. I hope that I can get my feelings wrapped up before school tomorrow. For both of our sakes, I hope.

* * *

Well, I can honestly say that ever thinking that school was going to be easy was stupid. Did I ever even think that? Well, if I did; big mistake. Whenever I hear someone whispering or laughing, my heart begins racing and I always think, _They know!_

Like high school wasn't already difficult and awkward enough. Toss in cheating with the most popular girl's boyfriend and you've got a paranoia-ridden day awaiting you no matter what. Especially if you happen to _be _a guy-it feels ten times more uncomfortable.

I just thank God that I have only one class with Stan. Any more and I would go fucking _crazy_! I think I've got to stop spacing out during class; during my Marine Biology class, I started to "think," and then, the next thing I knew, the name "Stan" was written all over this one sheet of paper. I crumpled it up before anyone could see it.

It feels like I'm still secretly crushing on him. I mean, I feel no different than I did last week. It's probably because everything's all bottled up. Stan cares too much about what other people think. If it were up to me, I'd have already posted notices all over the place; that's how happy I am. For once, I finally get what I want, and no one else can know.

"Mr. Broflovski!" I lift my head at the sound of my last name. It's my AP Chemistry teacher, Mr. Rowland. He looks really pissed. "Pay attention to _me_, not to whatever is going on outside."

"Sorry, Mr. Rowland," I mumble. Was I really looking out the window? I really _am_ out of it today. Maybe I should have stayed home…

Mr. Rowland makes an irritated huffing sound, and then turns back to the chalkboard. _Pay attention, Kyle,_ I subconsciously tell myself. _It'd be stupid to let your grades slip because of this_.

Okay, so if I add eight milliliters sodium acetate, then the result should be…what if he decides that he doesn't want me? What if he decides to stay with that damn tree hugger, Wendy? Because he really _does_ care that much about how other people see him. He'd choose his own sister over me, if that was how the masses felt about it.

I fucking _hate _peer pressure.

That's why it's great to be smart. No one cares how you act, as long as you help them with homework and studying and shit like that. I hope I can convince Stan that me tutoring him would be a good idea; we'd have an excuse to spend more time together.

"After adding the ten milliliters of dehydrated H-two-O, you are going to-Kyle Broflovski! The least you could do is take notes as I write them on the board!"

Whoops, my bad. I nod and pick up my pencil. I am barely able to scribble down the remaining notes before the bell rings. _Finally,_ I think, slamming my folder shut. _Study hall, and then, I get to go home._

Study hall…that's right! My one class with Stan. This is my chance to talk to him about tutoring. I need the extra-curricular activities, anyway. It looks good on a college transcript.

I stop at my locker-number thirty three-and stuff my AP Chemistry books inside and pull out my Calculus books. Even though Stan's only in Pre-Calculus-I took Pre-Cal over the summer-it doesn't hurt to have it with me.

I walk down the hall to Stan's locker; locker number forty nine. He's putting his Spanish books inside. "Hey," I say, crossing my arms and leaning against the lockers.

"What's up, Kyle?" he asks, digging in his locker as though looking for something important.

"Get your Pre-Cal books," I tell him, and he looks up at me in confusion, a question in his eyes. "I'm gonna' help you out," I say in response to the question in his eyes.

He shakes his head. "I've already told you, Kyle; you don't have to-"

"I know," I say, interrupting him. "I want to," I add, with a shrug. "I hate to see you so freaked out about your future, especially when you don't have to be."

He snorts, grinning. "You're something else, you know that?" He turns from his locker and slams it shut. As we walk away I notice that he is holding his "Pre-Calculus" book underneath his arm. I can't help but smile. He may be an idiot when it comes to love, but at least he's got some common sense in him.

I glance around us as we make our way to the library. "Besides," I begin, my voice low, "if I tutor you, we can spend plenty of time together without anyone wondering about it."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I never thought of that," he says, the smile still on his face. But his eyes hold no trace of a smile. They are filled with something that causes my chest to tighten and my stomach to wrap around itself. His eyes are filled with fear.

I hate that he's afraid to be with me. And I hate having to be the one who makes him feel that way. But I'm not going to back away-I've had it with being the doormat. This time, no one-and by "no one," I mean Wendy-is going to keep me down.

As miserable as this secret is, it's really giving me a blast of self esteem. I love having something to fight for. Even though no one really knows that I'm fighting.

_To Be Continued..._


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks to my reviewers: Faery Goddyss, Out Of Tune, PoisonCherry, SeventeenthAngelOfTheSixthHour, Leela's tears, E2K, Qindarka, Brat Child2, and Lifelike. All of the reviews for Chapter Two were so nice! They really made me feel good. So, please do the same for this chapter!

And thanks to Qindarka, who mentioned in her review that I should have more Kenny. I was trying to figure out how to add him and, in her review, said that Kenny "is SEX" and I was hit with an idea of where to add him. So, thanks for your (probably unintentional) help with that!

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Patterning your life around  
other's opinions is nothing  
more than slavery.  
-Lawana Blackwell

Honesty may be the best  
policy, but it's important to  
remember that apparently, by  
elimination, dishonesty is  
the second-best policy.  
-George Carlin

I prithee send me back my heart,  
Since I cannot have thine;  
For if from yours you will not part,  
Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?  
-John Suckling

I try but I can't seem to  
get myself to think of  
anything but you. Your  
breath on my face, your  
warm gentle kiss, I taste  
the truth. I taste the truth.  
-Mandy Moore "I Wanna Be With You"

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

Love hurts.

Yeah, I know it's been said before, but, hey, you never really know how badly it hurts until you really feel it. I mean, _really_ feel it. And when you do...God, it's like a fucking stab in the heart.

It all started in study hall. I thought it was going to be a nice me-and-Stan time, since I _am_ his tutor now, after all. But that is not the way it worked out. After all, why would anyone want Stan and me to have time together?

Stan and I sat down at an empty table in the back right corner of the room, away from everyone else. Not just for the least amount of noise, but so we could talk to each other however we wanted without people giving us the curious eye.

"Okay," I said, plopping down in a seat. "I'm glad you finally gave in. Jesus, I thought I was going to have to tie you down and force-feed you tutoring after a while there. You should know that I don't mind helping you out."

He shrugged, in a way that almost made him seem embarrassed or ashamed. "I don't know. I didn't want you to think that I was just-" His voice dropped an octave when he said this next part: "-using you to get free extra help." He cleared his throat and began in his normal volume, "Besides, I didn't want you to worry that I was going to fail or something."

I chuckled softly. I don't know why, even now; I think it was just out of nerves. I still felt like people were _staring_. "You really need to stop thinking about what _I'll_ think about you. Trust me; nothing could make me think less of you." _Unless you pick Wendy over me_, I added in my mind. _Then nothing could make me hate you-and probably want you-more._

"You're right...as usual. But I can't help it. It's like, since I'm quarterback, if I screw up even once-even if it's the most miniature, small-ass thing ever-people will, I don't know, hate me or something. Think less of me, I guess. It's pretty fu-screwed up," he corrected himself, noticing the lingering study hall proctors, "but I can't change the way I feel about it. And I've tried, trust me."

I nodded. I felt bad for him; who wouldn't? I looked down at the table and stared at his hands, which were lying, folding, in front of him, lying next to his math book. I wanted nothing more than to lie mine on top of his and tell him that I understood-because I do-but I couldn't. My promise to him burned inside my mind, chasing off any urges that I felt and leaving me with a sickening feeling of guilt.

And then, everything collapsed right before my eyes.

"Stan!" A high, female voice rang through my ears, intertwining around my heart and squeezing tight, so that all I felt was a nauseating pain. Wendy dropped her books down beside Stan's and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I got moved to your study hall; isn't that great?"

He smiled, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. To my dismay, I saw a tint of actual happiness in that smile. "Yeah, that _is_ great, babe! C'mon, sit down. Kyle and I were just going over some math."

"Oh, Kyle's helping you out?" How was it that she had known about Stan's school troubles and I hadn't? "That's so sweet of you, Kyle!" she squealed in a very nails-on-chalkboard voice.

I held back a wince, smiled a half-smile at her, and shrugged. "You know...what are best friends for?" I asked, trying to keep my disappointment over her arrival at bay. I would have given anything, at that moment, to see that mixed expression of horror, disgust, and sadness that would have come with the simple statement of, _"Oh, by the way, Stan and I made out on Saturday...and he fucking _loved_ it!"_

But he'd hate me forever if I said that. Truth hurts almost as much as love does. Sometimes even more.

Wendy sat down beside Stan-diagonal from me-as though she'd been invited, and began peering over his shoulder as I tutored him. Sometimes she'd even be so irritating as to place her chin on his shoulder and whisper something-probably dirty "sweet nothings"-into his ear. What a goddamn bitch she is...

After the bell rang, ending both study hall and the school day, I slammed my book shut and high-tailed it out of the room as fast as I could. I didn't want to hear Stan and Wendy make plans for after Stan's practice. I knew I'd get an earful of "too much information" and get sick from jealousy. I'm over-protective, maybe, but it's not like I can help it.

I've been sitting on this bench in front of school for about five minutes now, thinking about today. It really is amazing how slow the day goes, the more paranoid you are. Is this how Stan feels every day of his life? Maybe it's wrong to be angry and annoyed that he's always concerned about other people's opinions of him.

I glance at my watch. I should probably be heading home. Mom'll flip out if I'm too late. As soon as I get into the house, I'll be bombarded with questions like, "Where were you?" and "What were you doing?" and "What trouble are you in _this_ time?" That one's my favorite, because I can't really recall a time when I was in trouble-aside from when I was a _kid_ kid, of course.

"Hey Kyle." I look up and there stands Stan, clad in his football uniform. Number seventeen, his jersey reads. He's holding his shoulder pads and helmet in his hands. The sun bounces off of his black hair, making it look nearly blue to match his eyes.

"Hey," I reply, rubbing shyly at my face. Seeing him in his uniform, I suddenly feel star-struck, like I'm meeting some kind of celebrity. But I can't let him see that. "What's up?" I ask, dropping my hands back to my lap.

"That's what I was going to ask you," he says, placing his helmet and shoulder pads down on the bench beside me. "You ran out of study hall so fast today it looked like you thought the damn place was on fire." He smiles softly, but there is no humor in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

Ooh, loaded question. I don't want to tell him that I'm jealous of Wendy; he might get angry with me. Especially since he does seem to care a lot for her. "I don't know," I reply, and it's half-true. I don't know why I'm feeling so protective all of a sudden; it's not as though Stan is mine now. One night of kissing doesn't make someone belong to another.

His eyes are locked on mine. The feeling of shyness consumes me and I break away from his gaze and focus on the ground in front of his shoes. He kneels down in front of me and rests his arms on my knees. This makes me look back up at him, returning my gaze to his crystal blue eyes. "Are you sure?" he asks.

His eyes are so soft and caring and filled with such a vast amount of concern that my heart literally swells. I've never seen him look at me this way before; I've never seen his eyes look like this. He looks so genuinely concerned that I can _feel_ the love he has for me. I just wish he'd admit it.

"Yeah," I whisper. I clear my throat and say, louder, "Don't worry about me, dude. I'm just a little out of it, you know?"

He smiles, but that same concerned look remains in his gaze. "I know what you mean." Does he really, though? I don't want to ask, for fear that he's just saying it to try and help me feel better. He pats my knee gently, then stands up. "I gotta' go. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

"Sure, Stan," I reply. "Don't forget your stuff," I add, looking over at his equipment that was still lying beside me on the bench.

"Oh, right," he says, grabbing his helmet in his left hand, the shoulder pads in his right hand. "Thanks. Coach would have a fucking heart attack if I forgot any of this shit." He rolls his eyes, resting his shoulder pads on his left shoulder, and I grin.

"Yeah, and my mom's going to have one, too, if I don't get home, like, now," I say, standing up. It's amazing; my head just barely reaches his shoulder.

Apparently Stan notices this as well; he chuckles, shaking his head. "You know, it's no wonder Cartman started calling you 'Little Shit' in eighth grade," he says, still chuckling, and I feel myself blushing. I hope he doesn't notice it. He smiles down at me and ruffles my hair with his free hand.

"Dude, Stan, you're gonna' mess it up!" I say, sarcastically, touching and patting my hair to try and get it like it was before.

He laughs, and the sound echoes through my ears and through my mind. "You really are something else, Kyle."

"Yeah, you know you love me."

He laughs again. "I really gotta' go. I don't want to do five extra laps for being late. I'll see you." He turns and begins to jog down toward the football field.

"Yeah, bye!" I call to him, and he lifts his hand to me in a half-wave. I turn in the opposite direction and begin walking, silently wishing that the response to my earlier statement had been: _"Of course I love you."_

As I walk down the grey cement sidewalk, a gust of wind blows by. I shiver, then reach into the pocket of my jacket and bring out my green hat. It's almost identical to a hat I had when I was a kid. Only difference is, back then, I never took it off. Today, I only wear it when it's really cold out, like now. I pull the hat over my hair, doing my best to cover all of the red, curly mess.

I still cannot believe that I'll have to walk home every day until I graduate. Both of my parents agree-although I think my mom had a lot to do with my dad agreeing-that I don't get a car until college. Until then, I'll be forced to either walk home, or carpool with someone else.

My parents said that "walking home would be good for me." They're worried that, since I don't do any sports, one day, _bam_; my body will suddenly expand and I'll look just like Cartman, only shorter. _There's_ a scary thought...

But I only really _have_ to walk home about two months out of the school year. In other words, football season. Until then, and after then, Stan drives me home in his car-usually with me sitting backseat and Wendy sitting shotgun.

I hate walking home; I've thought it every day since I've first had to do it, and I always will. It's hard enough to walk with a twenty pound backpack tearing apart your spine, but it's ten times worse when you've got your thoughts weighing down your mind. Especially now; I've got more "thoughts" than I've ever really wanted.

And they weigh more than my mind can carry.

Even with the extra weight, I somehow manage to make it back home. My back is screaming at me to take off the backpack, so it's the first thing I do. I sigh loudly as soon as the excess baggage is gone. I swear, I'm going to develop scoliosis if I have to keep walking home like this.

"How was school, booby?" my mother asks me as soon as I drop my backpack onto the ground next to the stairs. She leans down and gives me a loud kiss right on the forehead; it's like she's surprised that I'm still alive.

"It was fine," I reply, saying my usual response to the question. "It was just...you know, school."

"...okay, Kyle. Did you bring everything you need home? Any tests or quizzes tomorrow?" she asks, going through the usual just-got-home drill. It gets old, fast.

"No, Mom," I reply, moaning inwardly. Can't she ever just let me live my life? Is she always going to shove her nose into what I'm doing and demand to know if I'm doing it right? I have a feeling that, even when I get to college, I'm still not going to get away from her. Fuck.

"Don't be smart, Kyle," she snaps. _But I thought that's what you want me to be, Mom_, I think, but I'm not stupid enough to actually say it. I watch as her gaze moves to my backpack. "What have I told you about leaving your backpack on the floor? Someone's bound to trip over it and break their neck."

I sigh and slump over to where my backpack is lying. I groan loudly as I swing it over my shoulder, hoping she'll feel even a little bit guilty for making me lug this goddamn heavy thing all around the house. If she _does_ feel guilty, however, she's doing a good job of not showing it.

I trudge up the stairs and drop my backpack on my bed. The middle of the mattress sinks slightly, I notice. God, there should be some kind of a weight limit on homework, or something.

I stare at my backpack a moment longer, and am instantly hit with the realization, _I don't want to study right now._ It's not at all like me to think something like that. My philosophy has always been to do it right away. But it seems that other things are taking priority; homework will just have to wait.

I walk back down the stairs, hoping that my mom won't nag me about "doing my homework first, then relaxing." Quietly, I open the door and slip outside, pulling the door closed behind me.

Once I am outside, I feel almost at a loss. I don't know what I want to do-well, that's not true. I know _exactly_ what I want to do, but the person involved is busy at his practice. Maybe I could go and watch...probably not the best idea. Watching him run around would probably just make me want him even more...

Wow, when love is mixed with teenage hormones, it's a dangerous combination. Like water in acid.

I sit down on the steps of my house's stoop, staring off at nothing in particular. My eyes can't seem to focus; they shift from fuzzy to clear every few seconds. Too much is happening with me, but there's nothing happening around me to distract me.

A car flies by. My eyes don't even glance at it. My ears continue ringing with the sound of the engine even after it's disappeared down the road.

"Hey champ," a familiar voice greets me. I shift my gaze to the right and see Kenny standing beside me. When did he get here? I didn't even hear him coming. His hands are on his hips and he's grinning. His teeth are covered in a light sheet of yellow-an aftermath of all the smoking he does. "What's hangin'?" he asks, sitting down next to me.

"Not too much," I reply, looking away from him, back to my earlier position of staring directly ahead of me. "Just got home."

"I got a ride home from Bonnie, that hot senior babe." Out of the corner of my eye, I see him nodding-from satisfaction, maybe, or pleasure. "We set a date for this weekend. A movie."

"And, knowing you, she'll be staring at your lap more than the movie," I say, looking over at him and raising an eyebrow.

"That's the plan," he says, chuckling. He stops, mid-laugh, and lets out a cough. "Besides, it's not like there's anything really good out, anyway. I mean, _The Pacifier? _What the fuck is Vin Diesel thinking, doing some shitty kids movie? Anyway, what's going on with you? You seemed pretty out of it today. What's with you and Stan?"

I freeze. My heart skips a beat, and then another. A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it away and ask, softly, "What...what do you mean?"

"Today in study hall...you two were sitting in the corner. Wendy came up. And then, as soon as the bell rang, you fucking _sprinted_ out of there. What was up with you?"

My heart slows back down. Now I understand what he's talking about. "Oh, I agreed to be Stan's tutor for a while. At least until football season's done with."

"Huh." He pulls a cigarette out from the pocket of his jacket, followed by a lighter with a woman on it-a blond woman with flowing hair, wearing nothing but a bikini top...maybe a bikini bottom as well, but I can't see it. With a quick flick of his thumb, he lights the cigarette and takes a long drag on the end. "But why'd you run outta' there, then?" he asks, the smoke floating out of his mouth as he asks the question.

I shrug. "I don't know. I just wanted to get home as fast as possible. My mom flips out. You know her..."

"Okay, then, if you wanted to get home so damn fast, why'd you talk to Stan before football practice?"

"Are you stalking me?" I ask, becoming increasingly unsettled by all of his questions.

Kenny laughs. "Yeah, you and everyone else in this goddamn city." I find that incredibly easy to believe; Kenny will fuck anything that lets him. He takes another drag on the cigarette and looks at me with an intensity that I don't like. I pull back slightly and his eyes widen. "Shit, dude!" He leans toward me, staring at my neck. "Where'd you get that hickey?"

Oh, fuck. Shit-damn-fuck. My heart's racing again. I could throw up, I really could. Trying to play it off, I reach up and touch it. "I don't know," I say, nonchalantly, hoping that he'll drop it.

But, of course, he doesn't: "You don't remember? That's bull, and I know it. Anyone would remember getting _that_. It's huge! Someone really likes your taste-"

He raises his hand, as if he wants to touch it, and I pull back even further, pulling up the collar of my jacket to where it had been; covering it. "Whatever-"

"Whatever, nothin'. Whoever did that...shit, they must've been _all_ over you." He's still gawking at my neck. It's like he has x-ray vision, or something.

_They _were_ all over me, Kenny_, I think, and, if the promise wasn't still in effect, I'd tell him everything. If there's anyone who'd love to hear something like _this_, it's Kenny. Knowing him, he'd have a hard-on before my story was even over.

"Just...drop it, okay?" I say, pleadingly. "I don't want to talk about it. It was...a one-time thing, and..." I trail off, not knowing how to continue, and not really wanting to.

Kenny seems to understand, to my relief. He nods, dropping the cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it with his boot. "I gotcha. Don't worry about it, Kyle. We've all had our times that we'd rather forget." He licks his lips, coughs, then crosses his arms over his chest.

_This is different than what you think, Kenny_, I think to myself, as Kenny and I sit on my stoop in a not-so-awkward silence. _I don't want to forget. And I don't think it was a one-time thing, either. If Stan and I are still getting together this weekend, it's going to be more than a one-time thing. God, I wish I could just tell you, so you could give me some...I don't know, pointers. You've probably been with a guy before, so..._

I stop my train of thought before it goes somewhere I'd rather not even think about. As true as the thought may be, I'd rather leave it unconsidered.

I hate having to lie to Kenny. Especially since, out of all the people in South Park, he'd be the one who wouldn't care about it at all. He'd probably like it. If Stan and I were together (openly, might I add), that would leave Wendy available. And, if the rumors around school are true, she's the only girl in our class (and maybe our entire school) that he has yet to sleep with.

_Heh, _I chuckle to myself. _What a "couple" they'd make._ I bite my tongue to keep from laughing aloud. I don't want Kenny thinking I'm completely crazy.

But maybe I am. Maybe thinking that Stan would choose me over _Wendy_ is crazy. But I can't let that scare me. If I do, I'll probably lose him...and then who would I have to love me?

God, love hurts so badly.

_To Be Continued..._


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks to all who reviewed: E2K, "Midnyte Wolf," Faery Goddyss, "Spice Of Life," doogy, PoisonCherry, Leela's Tears, Out Of Tune, Brat Child2, and "Qindarka." Oh, and, in this chapter, I used a small part of a lab that I found online. Just to add to the disclaimer, it is not mine.

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

The truth is not simply  
what you think it is; it  
is also the circumstances in  
which it is said, and to whom,  
why and how it is said.  
-Vaclav Havel

You build me up, you knock  
me down, provoke a smile,  
you make me frown. You  
are the queen of run-around  
You know it's true.  
-Maroon 5 "Shiver"

When I wake in the morning,  
I want to blow into pieces.  
I want more than just  
okay, more than just okay.  
When I'm up with the sunrise  
I want more than just blue skies.  
I want more than just okay.  
-Switchfoot "More Than Fine"

I promise I won't let you  
down, you down, if you take my  
hand tonight, I promise  
We'll be just fine, this time  
If you take my hand tonight.  
-Simple Plan "Promise"

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_Tap._ "Huh?" My eyes flicker open for a moment, then instantly close. It's still dark out; I shouldn't need to get up now. It's too late...or too early, depending on how you want to look at it.

_Tap_, _tap._ My eyes open and, this time, stay open. "God, what the hell...?" I ask the room, yawning soundlessly. _Tap._ I push myself up in my bed and look over to where the sound seems to be coming from: the window. Someone's throwing rocks at my window, by the sound of it.

For some reason, the only logical thought that flies through my head is, _Stan!_ Well, it seems logical, after all; who else would it be? No one else would need to talk to me in the middle of the night...

Grunting out of exhaustion, I climb clumsily out of bed and stumble over to the window. The drapes are down, and it takes me a few minutes to figure out how to raise them in the darkness. "It better be you, Stan," I mumble to myself. "If it's anyone else, I'll be _really_ pissed off."

Once my drapes are (finally) raised, I am able to look out of my window, down at the ground below. I can't help but smile at seeing Stan standing in the snow of my yard, his arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to keep himself warm. I can see his breath in cold; white puffs of air that hang in front of his mouth for a moment before disappearing completely.

Opening the window takes longer than it did to raise the drapes; the metal lock on the window is freezing and it almost hurts my hand to touch it. I exhale a long blow of warm air into my right hand and, in one quick motion, unlock the window and lift it up.

"Hey!" I whisper loudly, sticking my head out of the window. Cold wind whips against my face angrily, but I try my hardest to ignore it. My eyes are glued to the form standing in my yard. It's almost surreal; Stan sneaking over to my house in the middle of the night and waking me up by throwing small pebbles...it's like something out of a chick flick. All that's needed now is the proclamation of unrequited love. Heh, wouldn't _that_ be something?

"Hey!" he replies, his voice low, but still shaking slightly from the cold. "Can...can you come out here?" he asks, shivering as a gust of cool wind blows by.

I run a hand through my tangled hair. I suppose that I could go out the front door, if I do it quietly. I'm just lucky that my parents' bedroom is upstairs and not downstairs-that would make it damn near impossible. "Sure!" I whisper back, holding up my index finger, telling him to wait a minute.

I duck my head back inside and quietly close the window. I grab my jacket from the closet and quickly pull it on over my sleeping shirt-which is basically an over-sized tee shirt. I stuff my feet into my shoes and, finally, grab my hat. Inhaling deeply, I slowly open the door to my bedroom and make my way down the hallway toward the stairs.

What could Stan want? I know I joked about the "proclaiming of unrequited love" before, but is it really _that_ unlikely? _Don't get your hopes up,_ I quickly tell myself, and I know that that is the right thing to do. I've already been hurt because I got my hopes up too quickly. I'll make sure that doesn't happen again...and by the same person, no less.

I wince at the echoing click the lock on the door makes as I unlock it. No one upstairs is moving around, so I figure I'm out. Sighing in relief, I open the front door and, with one last glance upstairs, I slip outside, pulling the door shut behind me.

Stan is standing in the same spot, I notice, kicking at a patch of snow in front of him. He looks up at me as I close the front door and smiles. The cold is making his cheeks flush; small patches of red imbedded in his face.

I walk toward him, listening to the crunching of the snow beneath my sneakers with each step I take. "What's up?" I ask as soon as I reach him. I cram my hands into my pockets; the air feels even colder now that I'm outside.

"I just need to...to make sure of something," he replies, and I feel myself pull back slightly in confusion. He looks so flustered that I can see that this "something" must have been bothering him all night. "I don't want to have any...misunderstandings about this," he adds, so quietly that I can barely hear him.

"Umm...okay," I reply, glancing around nervously. "What is it?" I ask. _Please don't ask me if I love you,_ my mind pleads. _I can't take saying it to you and getting nothing in return._

"C'mon," he mumbles, taking my arm and leading me around my house until we're practically standing in the bushes that are beneath the kitchen windows. He lets go of my arm and stares at me with eyes so blue that I find that I can't even look at them for more than a few seconds without looking away in embarrassment.

"So...what is it?" I ask again, still feeling uneasy. This is very un-Stan-like behavior, and that's what bothers me the most.

"I just want to know," he begins, placing both of his hands on each of my shoulders, "you want this, right?"

"Want what?" I ask, stupidly. I know exactly what he means, but I want to hear him say it, so that there are no, as he said, misunderstandings.

With a soft murmur of, "This," he leans over and presses his lips onto mine. I feel the same surprise that I felt that Saturday night, but I also feel the same intensity as I did with our first kiss. I thought that a first kiss was impossible to remake. Looks like some rules can be broken if the two people are as perfect for each other as we are...I just hope I can convince him of that someday.

I stumble backward as he presses closer, intensifying the kiss, until my back is pressed up against the side of my house. His hands rest against my neck; his fingers are cold, and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

He breaks the kiss, looking into my eyes, that question still lingering over us. "I do," I whisper in reply, reaching up and taking his hand in mine. "I really, really want this."

He gives my hand a quick squeeze before smiling an almost sad, confused smile. "So do I," he says, resting his lips against my forehead, just below my hairline. "I do, too," he whispers, and the warm air from his mouth blows gently onto my forehead.

"I've gotta' go," he whispers into my ear after a moment of complete silence-just the two of us standing in the cold, leaning against my house, holding each other. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says, pulling away and stuffing his hands into his pockets the same way he did when we were kids.

"Don't you mean 'today'?" I ask, with a tired smile, glancing up at the dark sky. I see him grin, then shrug his shoulders in an apologetic way. I raise my hand at him and he does the same. He turns away, and so do I. I can hear his footsteps walking away as I open the door to the house and slip inside.

I don't feel as cold as I did before.

* * *

I still can't believe what happened last night. I mean, Stan actually said that he wanted it. I know it's not exactly what I had been hoping for, but it's definitely a step in the right direction. 

"-sure you follow all directions carefully," Dr. Goldman, the AP Chemistry teacher says. The last part of his sentence catches my ear, as he had said the word "directions" only seconds after I had thought it. He taps a thin packet of papers that are sitting on his desk in the front of the room. "They're all here. Remember, goggles and aprons on at all times. And...get going."

The room is instantly filled with the sounds of chairs being pulled out, then pushed back in. This lab is the first of the year that we are allowed to work by ourselves. It's got both its up sides and down sides. The down side is that it'll take a lot longer. The up side is that I don't have to talk or work with my usual partner; Wendy Testaberger, also known as the girl whose boyfriend is cheating on her with me.

I grab the packet off of Dr. Goldman's desk. Before I can even turn around, he waves me over to where he is sitting; in front of his computer. "Could you come here, Kyle?" he asks, as though I have a choice.

As I walk over, I become increasingly nervous. We had had a test the last week, and we still hadn't gotten them back. Could this be about that? If I didn't do well, my parents will kill me. _Really_ kill me. "What...what is it, Dr. Goldman?" I ask, my voice sounding shakier than I want it to.

"I just wanted to give you back your test from last Friday, and let you see where you stand in my class," he replies, and he doesn't sound disappointed, so I begin to relax. He hands me the test, grade-side down, and the way he almost smiles at me relaxes me completely. I turn in over and breath a sigh of relief; a 96. Thank God. I only spent all week studying for that.

"And," he adds, turning toward his computer, where all of the grades for the class are listed, "with that added grade, you have a...97 percent average in this class."

"Thanks," I say, turning from him and going back to my desk to put my test away. Ever since my crush on Stan first started all those weeks ago, I had been sure that my grades were going to suffer, but, so far, nothing bad has happened. I guess I'm just a lucky one...

I wonder what Stan's doing right now. If I'm in AP Chemistry, that means he's in...health? Or is it history? I really should ask him...

_Focus, Broflovski_, my mind snaps at me. _You've only got fifty-something more minutes on this. Don't fuck it up. _And I have no intention of that...me? Fuck up a grade? Please...in love or not, that's not like me at all.

I glance down at the packet of papers Dr. Goldman had passed out. "The Molar Volume of Hydrogen," the title reads. All I have to do is find the volume of hydrogen . Sounds good. I kind of wish that Stan were in this class; he and I could work together, like we did in Junior High...

I mentally slap myself. I kind of hate being so love-struck; it's distracting me more than the crush did.

As I set out all of my equipment, I try my hardest to keep my mind focused on what I'm supposed to be doing. As I pull a pair of goggles over my eyes, I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Kyle?" Damn, I know that voice. Why can't Wendy leave me alone? "Can you pass me a pair of goggles?" she asks, smiling at me gratefully, and I just want to smack her, but I don't, because I feel too sorry for her to do that.

"Yeah, sure," I reply, reaching into the box where all the goggles are kept and pulling a pair out. I hand them to her; she smiles in thanks, then walks back to her table. I want to smile as well, but for different reasons. She thinks that she's so special, because she knows Stan in a way that (she thinks) is different than me. No, I don't want to smile; I want to laugh, long and loud...

_Focus!_ I turn and walk straight back to my table, the urge to smile and laugh now gone. I really need to concentrate, but, God, it's so hard.

As soon as I begin my experiment, I notice that, try as I might, my mind keeps wandering, asking me all these questions that I don't know, and I am forced to make a mental note to ask Stan. But I don't want to ask Stan anything, not right now...but, that's not true, I totally _do_, but I'm supposed to be working, and...ugh, why is everything so goddamn _hard_ when you're in love?

I lean over and look at the gas measuring tube. Something doesn't seem right; I glance around at everyone else's beaker-mainly Wendy's. She and I are the best in the class, so maybe I could ask her what I did wrong...

_No_! my mind yells. _Just twenty minutes ago you wanted to laugh in her face because you've both made out with Stan! Talking to her would be the worst thing you could do._ Okay, so I won't ask her; I'll just look.

Wendy's getting a reaction. Why aren't I? Did I (I hate to even think it) do something wrong? I skim back over the procedure. Magnesium ribbon? Did it. Copper? Did it. What the hell did I do? Beaker with water? Yeah. Ten milliliters of hydrochloric acid? Did-wait, _ten _milliliters? How did I see "five" milliliters?

"Shit," I whisper, crossing my arms on the table and placing my head down on top of them. _You see, this is what happens when you think about Stan instead of Chemistry._

God, I hate it when that voice in my head lectures me. Dammit, Stan; why'd you have to come over last night? It was great at the time, but not so great _now_.

I hear the bell ring. Shit, how did that happen? How did time go so fast? I guess that happens when you mess up; there's no time to fix it.

I gather up all my materials, throw my goggles into the box, and get the hell out of that room before Dr. Goldman can say anything to me. Well, at least that's over with, I guess. Now I've got, what the school calls, for some reason, "Advanced English". I didn't know you could even _have_ an advanced English class, but I guess they found the need to add one, to make the school look better or something.

Luckily for me, Wendy's not in that class. But Cartman is. Eric Cartman got into an advanced class. I nearly had a fucking heart attack when I found out. Although, I remember he _was_ good at writing stories when we were kids; he always got everyone really into it. Maybe there _is_ hope for everyone in the world.

I open my locker-somehow I got a top locker this year-and stuff my AP Chemistry books into the empty space on the shelf. I pull out my English books and folder and slam my locker shut. I turn to my right and begin to walk down the hall...and end up walking right into Stan.

He grins down at me. "Hey Kyle. What's up? How was AP Chem?"

Looks like he's not having the shitty day that I am. "Fine," I say, trying to save face. "How was-" Please let me get this right. "-History?"

He shrugged. "All right. About as good as some shitty class _can_ be."

"Language, Mr. Marsh," Dr. Goldman snaps, appearing from behind me. He points an accusing finger at Stan, giving him an angry look.

"Sorry, Dr. Goldman," Stan replies, flashing Dr. Goldman a cheeky smile. He's so hot when he's being sarcastic. As soon as Dr. Goldman is out of sight, he leans in close to my ear and whispers, "He's just pissed off 'cause my sister was in his class and I'm not."

I chuckle. "Yeah, he _is_ kind of a dick."

Stan gasps animatedly, drawing back in a mock horror. "Language, Mr. Broflovski," he says, in a dead-on impression of Dr. Goldman.

I laugh, shaking my head. "God, and you call _me_ animated," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, that's because you _are_."

I give him my best hurt look, trying to make my eyes as wide as possible. "But that's what you love about me," I say.

"Yeah, it is," he replies, smiling. He clasps me on the back. "I've gotta' get to math. Have fun in English with Cartman."

I grimace. "Yeah, like I always do." He grins, then walks down the hall. I watch him way longer than I probably should have, but I can't help it.

After he disappears into a classroom, I turn around and walk down the hall to my English room. I sit down in my usual seat-second row back, right in the middle. Cartman strolls in, looking oddly at me. What's his problem today? He's looking at me like I'm wearing an "I Heart Cartman" shirt or something.

He plops down in the seat to the right of me-his usual seat. I guess, even though we piss each other off to no end, we're still "friends." "What's up, LS?" he asks, calling me the nickname he gave me after he had his huge growth spurt in eight grade...and after he was forbidden to call me "Jew," because it was anti-Semitic. And, since you can't say "Little Shit" in school, "LS" has seemed to work for him.

"Not much, Cartman," I reply. I can't call him "fat ass" or "fat fuck" in school, and it's too gay to call him "FA" or "FF," so I'll stick with "Cartman."

"Well, it's great to see you and Stan spending more time together," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I mean, you haven't been so close since he and Wendy got together." He mumbles something else under his breath; something I can't understand.

"Yeah, it's great," I say, looking over at him in confusion. Him being the dick he is, he's probably going to say that Stan and I are screwing around or something. While it's completely true, I don't want him to ask; I'm already trying my hardest not to say anything; I'll probably blurt it out and ruin everything. "You sound jealous, Cartman. What's wrong?" I ask, giving him my best "I don't really give a fuck" look.

He rolls his eyes, slumping low in his chair. "Goddamn midgets, think they're so smart," he mumbles under his breath, but it's loud enough for me to hear it.

"Shut up, Cartman," I grunt. He tries to make it seem like I'm so short. I'm five foot four, not four foot five. But he's too much of an asshole to understand something like that. "At least I weigh less than two hundred pounds." _A lot less_, I add in my mind.

"'Ey! For your information, I weigh one ninety, so get your facts straight, Jew!"

"Mr. Cartman!" our teacher, Mrs. Wilson practically yells. Why is it that, whenever someone's in trouble with a teacher, the teacher feels the need to call them by their first name? "I won't have that in my classroom!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Wilson," he whines, looking over at me and giving me a fake, "Sorry, Kyle." The annoyed twinkle in his eye says otherwise, though. It says, _I'm going to fucking kill you_.

_Just fucking try_, I think, glaring back at him. "It's fine," I say through gritted teeth.

Mrs. Wilson turns to the chalkboard and begins talking about how we're going to learn about something unimportant today. This class is so unbelievably easy, I don't even mind if I zone out.

After a few minutes of watching Mrs. Wilson scribble notes all over the board, I feel something poking my arm. I look down and there is a folded piece of paper sticking under my elbow. Glancing up at Mrs. Wilson, I carefully unfold it, hoping that she doesn't hear the crinkling of the paper.

On the paper is a drawing. There is one stick figure, obviously (and I mean, _really_ obviously) a guy, standing up, with another stick figure bent down, on its knees, in front of the other. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's an almost pornographic drawing of a guy getting sucked off by another. Above the one guy it says "Stan"; above the other, it says "Kyle."

I snap my head toward Cartman, who is giggling uncontrollably, but doing a pretty good job of hiding it from Mrs. Wilson. I give him a genuine pissed off glare; not because of what he drew, but because, one, if anyone found this, Stan would be _really _upset, and, two, Cartman thinks that he's being a fucking comedian by doing it.

I crumple up the note and crush it in my fist. _Yeah, I wish it'd gotten that far_, I think, before I even realize it. I really don't know if I want to move things that far already, but, let's just say, it hasn't completely avoided my thoughts.

* * *

Study hall. Finally. After the near mental breakdown I had during Chemistry, this is _exactly_ what I need; some time spent with Stan. I know I'm supposed to be tutoring him, but the way he's looking at me makes me think that he doesn't want to study. 

Today, he sitting beside me; so close that I'm beginning to wonder if he still wants to keep our new relationship a secret. "...and then you multiply _this_ by-Stan, are you listening to me at all?"

"You know, I'm really not," he says, his voice low. He's staring at me with such an intensity I can actually _feel_ the heat coming from his eyes.

I snort. "God, Stan, did you take a fucking aphrodisiac? You sound really...umm, 'passionate.'"

He shrugs. "I was just thinking about last night as how great it was," he whispers. "It's too bad it didn't last that long..." He raises an eyebrow at me. "I'm going to go to the bathroom."

Whoa, does he mean...here? At school? Wow, for someone who wants to keep things under wraps, he seems to be trying _really_ hard to get us caught. "No one goes to the bathroom during this period," he adds in a low whisper.

"Uhh, I...okay," I reply. In all honesty, that seems like a great idea, but I don't know...I'm really freaked out over being caught; mostly for Stan's sake, though. I'm sure that people assume I'm gay, considering _everyone_ knows I've been single forever, and that I've turned down quite a few girls.

He stands up and walks over to the sign out sheet. He scribbles down his name, then leaves the room, flashing his eyes at me before shutting the door.

How long am I supposed to wait? So that it's not completely obvious. I guess we're just really lucky that Wendy went to an appointment ten minutes ago. With her here, it'd be freaking impossible.

I watch the big hand of the clock move three notches, decide that that's enough, then stand up. I walk casually over to the sign out sheet, write my name beneath Stan's, then walk over to the door. Before I leave, I notice that no one else even glanced up.

As I walk down the hallway, I feel my heart pounding in my ears. I've never done anything so intense-wait. Does this mean that, since Stan knows that no one goes to the bathroom during our study hall, he's done this with Wendy before? I do remember times when he signed out and stayed out for a really long time.

This doesn't seem as great anymore.

I push open the door to the bathroom and walk inside. Stan is leaning against the wall, next to a sink. "Dude, what took you so long?" he asks, grinning.

"I wasn't sure how long to wait," I reply, sounding really disappointed. I didn't mean to sound that way, but I couldn't help it.

"Oh, that's fine," he says, reaching over and grabbing me by the wrist. "Come on," he says, pulling me toward the stall furthest from the door. I don't know if this a good idea, and I want to tell this to Stan but, as soon as the door of the stall is closed, he throws himself at me, pinning me against the wall.

I melt into his touch and enjoy the heat from his lips. It feels like he's been holding in this urge all day, the passionate way he's kissing me. His hands are caressing my face in an attempt to draw me closer. He's really the one in charge when it comes to this. Then again, he's definitely the most experienced of the two of us.

His tongue slides across the roof of my mouth, and I shudder. If everything keeps moving as fast as it is right now, in two minutes we'll have gone all the way...twice. Luckily for me, I don't think he has any intention of _that_...I don't think either of us is ready for that.

He kisses down my face to my jaw line. I open my mouth and, before I can even think about it, I hear my voice asking, "Did...did you do this with Wendy, too?"

He pauses, his lips still pressed on my neck, just below my jaw. He pulls back and looks at me. "What?" He sounds guilty, and I frown.

"Did you do this with Wendy, too? I mean, it's not just for _me_, right?" I sound really accusing, but I want to know before I jump to any conclusions.

"I...why does it matter?" he asks. "I'm here with _you_. And I _want_ to be here with you. Why does it matter if I've done this with Wendy?"

"I don't know. Maybe it doesn't...I just wanted to know."

"Well, it's really none of your business, Kyle," he says, abruptly. It's none of my business? Apparently, he doesn't understand how much his being with Wendy kills me. If he really wants me, he'll just fucking break up with her! God, why's it so hard for him to just admit who he really wants?

"Maybe not, but you don't have to get angry about it-"

"Yes, I do. We had a great thing going just now. It felt _right_, like I said before. But you ruined it by asking something that didn't even matter, _and_ was none of your goddamn business in the first place."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't have had to ask if you would just stop fucking around with Wendy and admit who you really want!"

"I told you, I can't do that, Kyle! I told you what'll happen! I'm not ready for all that...I need you both. I can't choose...not yet. Why can't you respect that?"

"Don't respect that?" I repeat. "How can you even say that? I've been holding feelings for you for weeks now, and, even though you feel the same way, I can't say anything about it, and you refuse to admit it, even to _me_? I think that's a shitload of respect, Stan."

"Wait, you've had feelings for me? Before Saturday?" Didn't I tell him that? I'm sure I did. Oh, shit, I didn't, did I? Oh, fuck.

"I...yeah, I did," I admit, looking down at the floor. "For a few weeks now."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks.

Is he serious? I think that the answer to that is kind of obvious. "Why? Because you were-are-with Wendy. Do you know how bad that hurt-still hurts?"

He looks at me, looking ashamed. "I...I'm sorry, Kyle. I guess...it is your business, what Wendy and I do-did. I'm sorry for yelling, but I just...hated ruining the...the moment."

"I know. I didn't mean to. I didn't even mean to ask it, but it slipped out."

He smiles down at me. "Do you think it's too late to pick up where we were?" he asks, and I shake my head no. He leans over and captures my lips beneath his. This time, there's equal passion between both of us, as well as equal control. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling myself up so that we're face to face.

_I love you_, I want to say as he wraps his arms around me, drawing me closer. _I love you so much_. But I'm not ready to say it yet; I know he won't say it back.

Not yet.

_To Be Continued..._


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Many thanks go out to those who reviewed Chapter Four: Fletset, doogy, Out Of Tune, Faery Goddyss, Erdanya McKormick, Leela's tears, Goldbryn Callow Lyte, Omusubi, Brat Child2, Mr.Baka, Sango-Kadie, and Young Wind.

Oh, my God, you guys, I am so, _so_ sorry that it took so long to get this up. The sad part was, I knew _exactly_ what I wanted to happen, but I couldn't get myself to write it. It's a bitch, isn't it:-P Well, here it is; the long-awaited Chapter Five. I hope it doesn't suck!

And many, many thanks to Mr.Baka, who was kind enough to take the time to draw a few parts of the story. The link to the art is in my profile, at the very bottom. Check it out; it's pretty awesome!

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Friendships last when each  
friend thinks he has a slight  
superiority over the other.  
-Honore Debalazac

May your service of love a  
beautiful thing; want nothing else,  
fear nothing else and let love be  
free to become what love truly is.  
-Hadewijch of Antwerp

I wanna hold you high,  
you steal my pain away  
There's so much left to learn  
And no one left to fight  
I wanna hold you high  
And steal your pain  
-Seether feat. Amy Lee "Broken"

Still somebody loses 'cause  
There's no way to turn around  
Tell me how you've never felt  
Delicate or innocent. Do you  
still have doubts that us  
having faith makes any sense?  
-t.A.t.U. "Show Me Love"

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"You're coming to my football game tonight, right?" Stan elbows me in the side as we walk out of school toward the parking lot. His game doesn't start until six, so he and I have plenty of time to go out and get something to eat. Usually it's him and Wendy who go out, but she's still at her appointment. "Hello?"

I blink at the hand waving in front of my face. "Oh...yeah. I'm coming," I say, nodding. I don't know why he feels he has to ask me; I've gone to every one of his games this season--well, except for one, when I had the flu. "Don't I usually?"

"Well, yeah, but I just thought that...after our...thing in the bathroom, you might not feel up to coming." What's he talking about? Which "thing" does he mean? A lot of things happened in the bathroom today. "Our argument," he says, making it sound so blatantly obvious.

I scoff. "If you think that's going to hold me back, you are sadly mistaken, by dear friend," I say, giving my voice a heavy British accent.

"God, you sound like Pip," he says, grinning. "Except your accent actually sounds real." He stops next to his car and leans on the roof of the car, staring across at me. "Where do you wanna' go?" he asks, tapping the roof of the car with the key.

"Well--"

"Kyle, Stan, wait up!" Stan and I jerk our heads back toward the school and see Kenny, followed by Cartman, dashing over to see us. Kenny arrives first--as expected--and the three of us continue to watch Cartman slump down the sidewalk toward us. I turn away from him, snickering under my breath. If I keep watching him run, I know I'll probably collapse on the ground, laughing my ass off.

"Have trouble getting here, Cartman?" Stan asks, and I turn back around. "By the way, when you were running over here, we went to Taco Bell, ate, and came back. Sorry you had to miss it; we all know how much you love the burritos."

"Go fuck yourself in the ass, Marsh," Cartman snaps, in between pants. "Since we all know that's how you like it," he says, looking over at me and giving me an evil grin. "Or maybe you'd just prefer if the Jew gave you a quick blow job before your game."

If Stan had been drinking something, he would've done a perfect spit-take at Cartman's words. "What?" He looks over at me in panic. Does he know? his eyes ask me.

"Oh, he's just being an asshole," I say, rolling my eyes. "He thinks that, since we're friends, we give each other head when no one's watching."

Stan relaxes quite a bit and looks over at Cartman. "Wow, looks like someone enjoys thinking about that a little too much," he says, laughing.

"'Ey! It's not my fault if you two have a gay attraction to each other. Just because I happen to point it out--"

"And draw pictures of it," I say, joining in on Stan's laughter. "Looks like we just figured out what Cartman thinks about those nights he gets his wet dreams." Stan and I continue laughing.

"Shut the hell up, assholes! I don't want to picture you guys making out anymore, so would you stop acting so gay towards each other?" Cartman shouts, his face beet red.

"God, that'd be so hot." The three of us look over at Kenny, who is leaning against Stan's car, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He glances over at us and shrugs. "Hey, let's not deny it, now. I have no trouble picturing you guys making out...or fucking, for that matter." He stares at us, blowing a long string of smoke out before grinning.

"Oh, God, Kenny! You're one sick guy!" Cartman says, walking over to Kenny and giving him a rough push.

"Yeah. It really creeps me out that you can picture that so easily!" Stan says, and I nod, not wanting to seem like the only one not disgusted by Kenny's comment. Not that it didn't disgust me; it just doesn't bother me that much.

"You know, let's just get over to Taco Bell. We've done nothing but talk about sex and blow jobs since we got out here. I think Kenny's rubbing off on us," Stan says, unlocking his car.

"I wish," Kenny says, taking another drag on his cigarette, and we all groan in disgust.

I hop into the passenger seat as Stan turns on the car. I slam my door shut and, in response, Cartman and Kenny slam their doors shut. "You know, it's been forever since we've done this," Kenny says, after Stan has pulled out of the parking lot.

"What? Hang out?" Stan says as he exits the school. "'Cause I think we do that pretty much every weekend, Kenny. By the way, throw out that cigarette. My parents will have a fucking heart attack if they smell smoke in here."

"No, I mean, go out and do shit after school," he says, flicking his cigarette out the window. "Usually we just go to the arcade or something on Saturday or Sunday, after church. When we were kids, we hung out every day."

"Yeah, well, now we've got our own crap going on," Stan says, looking at Kenny in the rear-view mirror. "I've got football, Kyle's probably destined to be accepted to every college in the US, and Cartman...well, Cartman's got no life--"

"Fuck off, Marsh."

"--not to mention homework and studying and...bottom line, we don't have a lot of time anymore. When we were kids, we could just do whatever the hell we wanted (and we usually did), and it didn't matter."

"I guess..." Kenny looks out the window, tapping his knuckle on the glass. "Ehh, why am I complaining? It's not like I never have anything--or anyone--to do. I'm usually pretty filled up."

"Not gonna' argue with that," I say, staring at the street ahead. The Taco Bell sign has yet to come into view. Ever since South Park got the Taco Bell two years ago, it's been kind of our hang out spot. Well, that and the South Park Arcade.

"I still can't believe that Wendy would put up with you for so long," Cartman says, sounding almost jealous. Not that I'm surprised; every guy, it seems, has a crush on Wendy. Well, every guy with the exception of me. "She must be going crazy having to be with you every goddamn day. And I mean, having to kiss _you_." He sticks out his tongue and makes a retching noise. "That must be so...well, how _is_ it, Kyle?"

My cheeks are burning, but I hope that no one notices. "Shut the hell up, fatass," I snap, but it doesn't sound like I'm trying very hard. Even though Cartman's only joking, I still can't help feeling like he knows somehow.

"Ooh, the little Jew's blushing," Cartman quips, his smile so large that it practically wraps around his whole face.

"You know what, Cartman?" Stan says, pulling into the parking lot of Taco Bell. "Sometimes you've gotta keep your inner thoughts to yourself."

Stan's trying so hard to protect me without seeming like he's _really_ trying hard that it almost makes me sad for him. He shouldn't have to worry about standing up for me. He's done it for years...and now everything's changed so much that I'm almost worried he'll give up completely one day.

As we all climb out of Stan's car and walk up to the restaurant, I can't help but wonder, what _would_ happen if he just gave up? Just abandon all of his "secret feelings" toward me and act like nothing ever happened. It'd probably drive him crazy. Not acting the way you _want_ to act would drive anyone insane.

* * *

"Go Cows!" Wendy shouts, waving at Stan, who's standing on the opposite side of the field with his team. How did I get stuck with her? I feel guilty enough when she's _not_ around; I don't need this. But maybe it's best to act as normal as I can.

"I still can't believe that they're called the 'Cows'," I remark, leaning against the railing and kicking the bottom of it with the toe of my sneaker. "It's not really an animal that strikes fear into your heart. The only thing that's even remotely scary about cows is that the ozone layer deteriorates every time one of them lets one rip."

"Eww, gross, Kyle," she squeals, shoving me lightly on my shoulder. There's another reason I hate hanging around Wendy; she's about three inches taller than me. If there's something I _don't_ need, it's the constant reminder (from a _girl_) that I'm abnormally small.

"Here comes Stan!" she tells me and I look straight ahead. Sure enough, Stan is dashing across the field toward us, pulling off his helmet. His black hair is clinging to his forehead from the sweat and he's glistening. It reminds me of this afternoon...

"Hey, Wendy. Hey, Kyle," he greets us, and I can't help but notice that he says my name second, even though he looked at me before her. Does he plan all of this paranoid shit out? Does he take note of all the little things that _might_ make people start to suspect something's going on? Jesus, sometimes, Stan, I just wonder about you.

"Hi, Stan!" Wendy says, smiling as she leans over the railing to peck his cheek. I swallow the jealousy away, trying to tell myself that he doesn't like it as much as she thinks he does.

Stan opens his mouth to say something when a whistle breaks through the air. He jerks his head toward the field - the coach is waving him over. Why does that coach always look so pissed off? I'm so glad I'm done with my Physical Education class - that guy hated my guts, mainly because I can't play sports for my life.

"I've gotta go. Coach'll make me run about a million extra laps if I don't get my ass over there now." His words are directed more toward Wendy than toward me. He knows I'm here, right? He's the one who made the big deal about me coming tonight. I mean, I could be at home right now, wishing that I had come. Why would I want to miss out on _that_?

"Okay. Good luck, Stan," Wendy says, smiling and leaning over the railing to place another kiss on his cheek. He accepts it, grinning. "Go out there and kick ass, okay?" she says as he places his hand on her arm.

He smiles at her. It looks like a smile that you would give to one of your friends, not to your girlfriend. I wonder what it means. "I will, babe," he says, then turns to me. "Hey, Kyle, watch her, will you? Make sure that no other guys try to hit on her."

"Well, sure, Stan, but where's _my_ kiss for good luck?" Wendy laughs at my words, but I continue staring at Stan, as though I am waiting for an answer.

He stares back, both of us emotionally frozen in time. Finally, his face breaks into a large smile and he laughs as well. "I'll give you one later," he says, and Wendy giggles. _Oh, if only he was joking, Wendy,_ I think to myself, trying to imagine what her face would look like if I were to lean over the railing and give Stan a kiss, just as she did. The thought makes me join in on her laughter.

A whistle blows; the coach is calling the players over to the benches. "I've gotta' go, guys. Talk to you after the game, okay?" Wendy and I nod at the same time as Stan grabs his helmet from off the ground and runs to the opposite side of the field, where the football team is gathering.

"He's a sweetheart," Wendy says as she and I sit down together on the bench. "And you're such a good friend to him." She looks over at me, but I don't look back at her. "Kyle?" she asks and, before I can stop myself, I look over at her. "Has Stan talked to you about...about how he's doing in school?" She says these last words in a low voice, as though she expects someone is listening in.

"Yeah, but it'll be fine," I reply, tearing my eyes away from her face and looking back toward the field. "I'm helping him out--tutoring him, I guess."

"Oh." She sounds hurt, and I feel evenguiltier than I already did. I can't bring myself to look at her during school, because of what I'm doing with her boyfriend, who she really seems to love, and now I'm trapped in a conversation with her, and all she can do is tell me what a good friend I am to Stan. Why doesn't she just kill me?

"But don't tell him I told you," I say quickly. "I think he'll be embarrassed. He doesn't want you to think he's having trouble. He..." I'm struggling with what to tell her. "...doesn't want you to worry about him."

This seems to lift her spirits a bit. She straightens up a bit and looks at the field, her hair flipping as she turns her head. "Well, he shouldn't worry about _that_. He should know that I'm willing to help him, too. I mean, it's not fair to you - "

"No, it's fine," I say, hoping that I don't sound too obvious. "I mean, uhh...I need the hours, you know? It's working out well for both of us. Like you said, I'm a good friend."

"Yeah, you are. Stan said that he was feeling kind of guilty, because ever since he and I got together, he hadn't been hanging out with you as much. But since you two started hanging out again, he's been, I don't know, happier."

I can't help but smile at that. At least the guilt seems to have gone down a bit. When she had been talking before, it felt like she was stabbing a knife into my heart.

A whistle blows. The game is beginning. Wendy and I sit down beside each other, staring out onto the field as the announcer begins: "Welcome to the South Park High School stadium. We would like to welcome North Park - "

The rest of the announcer's words are drowned out as a "Boo" fills the air. I glance around at the crowd - the ones making the noise. "I guess North Park doesn't have any fans," I say, more to myself than to Wendy.

"Yeah, either that or no fans who are dedicated enough to actually drive all the way here. It's, like, a two hour drive, right?" she asks, her eyes locked upon the team, or, more specifically, Stan.

"I think so, yeah," I reply, but the truth is, I _know_ so. Two weeks ago, Stan had an away game near North Park (some place I can't even remember the name of) and it took me about two hours to drive there...and about eight hours of arguing with my parents the previous night to convince them to loan me the car. The things I did out of love...it's almost pathetic, thinking back on it.

"...number seventeen, Stan Marsh, starting quarterback," the announcer states and, in perfect unison, Wendy and I cheer loudly. My voice drops away before hers; it almost seems like she's trying to outdo me.

Stan runs onto the field as soon as his name is called, giving a small wave to the fans. He really is amazing when it comes to football and everyone knows it. I guess that's part of the reason he doesn't want anyone to know about us. He doesn't want to lose the respect he has. It's really sad that it's even an issue in this day and age...it shouldn't matter. Not to anyone. It's not even a big deal, so I'll never really understand the reasoning behind it all.

It's almost the end of the first quarter and South Park's already scored four touchdowns. Stan wasn't kidding before; North Park really _does_ suck. And by the looks of it, South Park's going to score another touchdown.

Stan's doing amazing, but I suppose that's to be expected. He's the star, and everyone's learned it by now. He's the reason that South Park High is most likely going to regional, for the first time in years.

It's fourth down - after watching a few games, I've learned a lot of the football words and terms - and there's about thirty seconds left in the quarter. My guess is that South Park - in other words, Stan - will score two more touchdowns by the time the quarter ends.

My eyes are locked on Stan as though he is the sole person on the field. With every move he makes, my eyes never leave him.

Stan is hiked the ball and he catches it gracefully, treading backwards a few steps, looking around for an available person to pass the ball to. He makes to throw it, changes his mind, and pauses...

And that one split moment of hesitation gives one of North Park's linesmen a perfect opportunity to break through our offense and run, full speed, toward Stan.

Of course, I never see any of that happen; my gaze is still locked on the jersey with the number seventeen imprinted on it. All I see is Stan's almost-pass, his split-second of hesitation, and then, the next thing I know, he's going down hard, his head smacking against the ground - so hard, in fact, that I'm pretty sure I heard the smack all the way over here.

As the linesman climbs off of Stan, I wait for him to get up, kick at the ground in frustration and continue back to his position. I can feel my face falling at the sight of him lying there, motionless. Sure, he went down pretty hard, but not _that_ hard, right?

"Oh my God," I hear Wendy gasp next to me. I feel the bench vibrating as she stands up from her seat, leaning anxiously against the railing, trying to get a better look at her boyfriend as the coach and a medic run onto the field.

I want to move. I want to do exactly what Wendy is doing - attempting to get a better view - but I'm frozen. Or paralyzed. I seriously can't move, because I know I didn't just see that happen. There's no way.

I feel fingers curl around my arm, pulling me up and out of my seat. "Oh, God, Kyle, did you see that? Is he okay? He went down really hard; Jesus, do you think he's hurt?"

Wendy is asking me all of these questions that she knows perfectly well I don't know the answer to. God, why does she even bother asking me? "I...don't know..." I say, but the words are slightly mumbled, because my lips are so numb.

"C'mon," she says, pulling me along with her as we dash out of the bleachers and around the gated area, toward the opposite side of the field. My eyes still have yet to leave Stan; they're glued to him so fiercely that I don't think I'll ever be able to look away.

When we finally reach the opposite side of the field, Wendy releases my arm, walking over to the coach, who is standing on the sideline. "Is Stan okay?" she asks after tapping him on the shoulder.

"What's that? Oh, yeah, he'll _be_ okay. He hit his head pretty bad; they think he had a small concussion. But don't worry," he adds after seeing Wendy's worried expression. "Stan's tough; he'll be fine."

"Okay, thank you, sir," she says, walking back over to me. "A small concussion," she tells me, as though I was unable to hear their conversation. "But he'll be okay." She exhales deeply, sounding like she had been holding it in for a while. "I just hope he decides not to play football for a while after this," she adds, under her breath.

"What?" I say, looking away from Stan for the first time since the game began.

She looks over at me, panic in her eyes. "Oh...oh, nothing," she says quickly, shaking her head. "No, I didn't mean..." She frowns, the panic in her eyes being replaced by a pleading look. "Please don't tell him I said that. He's so touchy when it comes to football."

I nod. "I won't tell," I promise, looking back over at the field. The medics have loaded Stan onto a gurney and are now taking him off of the field. I think I can agree with Wendy on that. I'd feel a lot better if Stan was to not play football, at least for a little bit.

But she's right about another thing; Stan _is_ insanely stubborn when it comes to football. After all, he thinks that it's his only change to get into college. He'd fucking _murder_ anyone who tried to convince him to stop, even for a little bit.

But it never hurts to ask, right? I mean, he supposedly cares a lot for both me and Wendy, so if we were both to ask...then maybe...

No, I'd never want to take away his only hope of getting into college, although I think he has a lot more to offer than just some sport...

"Kyle?" I twitch slightly at the sound of my name. I look over at the person who said my name. "What're you looking at?" Wendy asks, looking at me in curiosity, cocking her head ever so slightly.

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking. About what you said about Stan and football."

"Yeah, I know I probably shouldn't have said that - "

"No, I agree with you!" I say, and she looks genuinely surprised by that. It's true, Wendy and I usually don't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things - most things - so I can't blame her for being surprised. "Maybe it'd be better if he laid off of football. For, like, a game or two."

She smiles at me. "Thanks, Kyle," she says. "I'm glad you think so, too. I would've felt guilty for a long time if you hadn't said something." Yeah, then you'd know how I feel almost every waking hour, Wendy. I mean, I feel so guilty that when I just do so much as see you in the hallways, I feel a twinge of pain in my stomach. Now _that's_ guilt.

We both frown in unison at the sound of an ambulance siren. "Don't worry," a voice says, and we both, in perfect sequence, look over at the person who had spoken. It's Stan's coach again. "They're just taking him in to be safe. Odds are he'll be back in school tomorrow."

"Oh. Good," I say, feeling the knot in my chest loosen a bit. As the coach turns and walks away, I say to Wendy, "That's good news, right?"

"I guess. But it kind of creeps me out that he was just _there_," she replies, referring to the coach. She smiles wanly. "Thanks for staying here with me. It means a lot."

"Sure," I reply, but I don't mean it. I would never have stayed here for Wendy. Although she'd never believe it, I care twice as much for Stan than she ever will. I'll always love him more, and, in the end, I'll be the one who'll be there for him no matter what.

But she doesn't see it. No one does, and they never will. And, as strongly as I feel towards him, I don't think that even Stan sees it. And that's why I stayed here with her. Not for her, not even for me. Just to prove to him that I care.

Because sometimes you've got to wonder...

_To Be Continued..._


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Yay, a new chapter! And it didn't take two months to write! I'm so proud of myself. Yeah, moving on...many, many thanks go out to Fletset, "Leela's tears", Out Of Tune, Young Wind, "Spice Of Life", Darkest-Shades, Omusubi, and Draco-luver, who reviewed Chapter Five. Much love to you!

I had serious problems with getting myself to finish this chapter. Eventually, I just forced my self to sit down and I wrote for two and a half hours and...done! And I wrote it listening to Green Day's "Holiday" on repeat. It's my newest song obsession. Okay, enough ranting. Enjoy and review!

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Saying what we think gives  
us a wider conversational range  
than saying what we know.  
-Cullen Hightower

Those that think it permissible to  
tell white lies soon grow color blind.  
Austin O'Malley

It's not my fault that you're so  
irresistible, but all the damage  
you've caused is unfixable.  
Every twenty seconds you  
repeat her name, but when it  
comes to me, you don't care.  
-Shakira "Objection"

'Cause I'm broken when I'm  
open and I don't feel like  
I am strong enough, 'cause  
I'm broken when I'm  
lonesome and I don't feel  
right when you're gone away.  
-Seether feat. Amy Lee "Broken"

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

It was insane, how it happened. The ambulance people (or whatever the fuck they're called) flew onto that field and loaded Stan up so quickly that it must have taken a grand total of five minutes before they were off again, back to the hospital, where they wanted to keep Stan overnight for "observation".

I didn't visit Stan at the hospital. No, correction, I _couldn't_ visit Stan at the hospital. As soon as I called my mom and told her what had happened, at first she had been very, _Oh my God, how terrible, that's just awful!_

And then, the second I asked if I could go and visit him, she morphed into, _Jesus, Kyle, it's already past dark and you have school tomorrow, what do _you_ think?_ as though she actually gives a shit about what _I_ think.

Well, he's only been at the hospital for a few hours now, so I shouldn't obsess about it too much. I mean, if he can't survive a few hours by himself, then there's no hope for him, really. I just hope that Wendy hasn't visited him already. I don't want him thinking that she cares more about him than I do. I can't afford him thinking things like that.

I'm really not in the mood for sleep, but Mom has done practically everything except strap me into the bed; she thinks that if I'm tired for school, my grades will suffer. Bullshit, Mom. _Bull_shit.

So, in other words, I'm forced to lie here in the dark, waiting for sleep that probably won't even come for a few more hours. I lick my lips, still tasting the light hint of Stan on them. I wonder how long it'll be until we do _that_ again. Judging from the amount of time I've spent thinking about him tonight, it better not be too long.

I sigh into the darkness, replaying the night's events over and over in my mind. It really was insane, how fast it all happened. Well, at least South Park still won in the end, even without Stan - and with Clive as the back-up quarterback, or whatever the word for him is.

Stan would've practically killed himself if South Park had lost. No, scratch that. He would've blamed himself, convinced himself that he's never going to college, and _then_ killed himself. He's just like that. Always has to take full responsibility for absolutely everything.

I jump slightly as a high-pitched ringing shoots through the air. My cell phone - the phone my parents bought for me just in case I get kidnapped or brutally raped by someone. You know, safety stuff. But no one knows that number. Well, there is _one_ person…

I snatch the phone off of my dresser, where it had been sitting, charging (it ran out of battery power about half an hour ago; it's what I get for playing games on it), and push a button. "Yeah?" I ask, sounding - to my own ears - tired, even though I'm not. Given, it's only eleven o'clock, but still. I'm usually asleep by now. Usually.

"_Kyle? Holy shit, dude, thank God! I didn't think you'd have this phone on; I was afraid I'd have to call your house."_ It's Stan. He sounds scared, exhausted, and panicky, all at the same time. The smile that had spread across my face at hearing his voice quickly fades.

"Hey, you all right?" I ask, cutting right to the chase. I've been worried about him all night. Does he know that he's the reason I can't sleep? Most likely not. _Stay focused!_ I shout at myself, returning my attention to Stan.

"_I guess. My head's fucking killing me, but the doctors say I'll be fine. Mild concussion; nothing big. It happens in football. Just gotta' suck it up and deal. That's what Coach always says."_

He's babbling, so I know that he's just trying to put up a brave front. He's freaked out, and I can really tell. But I'm not going to let _him_ know that _I_ know. "That's good. You being okay, I mean," I say.

"_Yeah, I'll definitely be at school tomorrow. Just...remind me to take some pain medication during lunch, okay? I'll probably forget. Not because of the...of the head injury. I just forget stuff easily. You know that."_

I fight off a smile, shaking my head. "Yeah, I know," I say. It's so cute that he's so scared. "I'll remind you. Don't worry about that."

"_Great, thanks, dude. Umm, I..."_ He pauses, and I hear him swallow. _"I..."_

"You what?" I ask, squinting my eyes as I try to hear him better.

"_...nothing,"_ he says after an extended pause. When I don't say anything, he adds, _"Seriously. It's no big deal. Just forget about it."_

I frown. I hate when he does shit like this; try to tell me something that's probably really important, change his mind at the last second, and then tell _me_ to forget about it. God, sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving him.

"_Kyle?"_ he says, and I return my attention to the phone._ "Just...thanks. For...for everything."_

I smile. That's why I started loving him. That incoherent, sweet way that he tries to tell people how much he cares about them. I first noticed it when he started dating Wendy. He stumbles so much, you can't help but love him. And, of course, he's got that hot body…

"_Kyle?"_ he says, and I jump slightly. _"I'll see you tomorrow, all right? The nurse is giving me a pissed-off look. I've gotta' go."_

"Okay," I say quickly. "See you," I add before hitting the END button. I place the phone back on my dresser, allowing it to return to charging. As I lie down on my bed, I can't help but wonder…what _was_ it that Stan wanted to say to me? Before he felt the need to stop.

* * *

"So, I hear Marsh practically killed himself last night," Cartman remarks as he and I enter the school. "Right?" 

I roll my eyes at him, taking off my backpack and tossing it onto the floor in front of my locker. "No, he got tackled and fell down and hit his head. He got a mild concussion; that's all. I mean, he's going to be at school today, so it obviously wasn't as bad as 'practically killing himself.'"

Cartman scoffs as I open up my locker. It's perfectly organized and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Cartman, along with quite a lot of other guys in the class, has always given me a hard time about it. But it's never bothered me, what with the shithole he has for a locker.

After I put all of my books away and toss my empty backpack onto the shelves, Cartman asks, "How'd you know all that?" He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the lockers.

"He called me last night," I say before I have time to think about it. "Just to let me know how he was doing," I add, slamming the door to my locker shut, not looking him in the eye.

"Jesus, you two are so gay," he says with a groan. "I mean, he didn't even call Wendy, but he called you. Sickening."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "He didn't call Wendy?" He shakes his head in response to my question and I ask, "How in God's name do you know that? Did you ask Wendy if he called her?"

He pulls back, looking caught off-guard with my question. "Fuck no. I heard her telling Bebe earlier. She was all, 'Oh, I'm _so_ worried about my Stan-y. He didn't call me and I just hope he isn't hurt.'" He says all of this with a high-pitched voice, all the while giving the sentence a sarcastic and sadistic undertone.

"Cartman, I highly doubt that Wendy said any of that bullshit," I say, shaking my head at him. I can feel my curls brushing the back of my neck. I think it's almost time to get a _small_ haircut. I hate it when my hair touches my neck. It's so goddamn annoying...

"Well, she didn't say it word for word, but it was close to that," Cartman says defensively, holding up his hands in a shut-the-hell-up-about-it way. "Point is, Stan called _you_, but not his girlfriend. Strange, if you ask me." He grins humorlessly, still leaning against the locker.

"Whatever. You know, you'd better stop putting all the weight on the lockers. They're bound to cave in any second," I say, turning back to my locker after realizing that I don't have any of the books for my first class. Flustered? Me? Kind of.

"Shut the fuck up. And I still think it's weird that - "

"You know what, Cartman? Did it ever occur to you that Stan and I are just really close...friends?" I add, feeling the final word was necessary. "Besides, he had a concussion. He probably just called someone out of impulse."

He gives me a lopsided grin, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head slowly. "You said," he begins, and I know he's about to say something that's going to trap me somehow, "that his concussion was small - mild, whatever - and that he's fine. Why are you being so defensive about it?" He looks at me in curiosity, cocking his head slightly.

I sigh in irritation. "I'm not being defensive. It's just...your insinuations - that means _suggestions_ - that Stan and I are anything more than friends is getting old fast. Or are you just mad that Stan decided to call me and not you?"

"Jesus Christ, you are so fucking defensive. I don't give a shit about you and Stan, and neither does anyone else. It's just _you_ who's freaking out about it. So just stop being such a gay-wad and think about something else." He smiles at me, but there's nothing friendly about his expression. "I've gotta' go. The cafeteria's still serving breakfast and Chef promised to save me something good."

As Cartman turns and practically sprints down the hallway, I stare at my locker, tapping my finger on the door. Maybe - though I shudder to even think it - Cartman's right. Maybe I _am_ the only one freaking out about me and Stan, other than Stan himself, of course. Maybe, in my desperate attempts to hide the relationship, I'm making it even more obvious to everyone. I think I should talk to Stan about this.

Speaking of Stan, as I turn my face away from the lockers, I see him walking down the hallway toward me. He's got a good-sized bruise on the left side of his face and he looks a little out of it, but other then that, he looks fine. I smile at him as he nears me and he smiles back.

"What's up?" he says as he reaches me. "Re-organizing your locker...again?" he asks, staring at the inside of my locker.

"No, not today," I say, and that gets him to chuckle a bit. "How're you feeling?" I ask, looking at the bruise. It looks bigger from up close, and more purple.

"Fine. The bruise is from hitting the side of my face on the inside of the helmet," he says, noticing that I'm staring at it. He touches the bruise with his fingertips, wincing at the contact. "Not sure exactly _how_ it happened, but...it did."

"Nice," I say, slamming my locker shut for the second time. I'm clutching my books against my chest, still staring at his bruise. I don't know why, but I can't stop looking at it. It's kind of like a car accident - horrible, but you can't get yourself to look away, it's just so fascinating.

"So...Cartman went off on us again earlier. If he wasn't such a dumbass I'd swear that he knows," I tell him, leaning my back against the lockers.

"Yeah, but he's been doing it for a while now, so it's not like it's new," he says, leaning against the lockers beside me, his shoulder touching mine ever-so-slightly. I sigh to myself, wishing that we could be closer; be like those guy-and-girl couples in our school who make out in front of the lockers almost every day. It's times like these where I _really_ wish everyone knew.

"How's Wendy doing?" he asks, and my gaze falls to the floor. If there's one person I don't want to talk about, it's Wendy. "I mean, has she said anything to you about...anything?"

I pause, momentarily considering telling him about what she said yesterday at the game, about wanting him to take a small hiatus from football. Because I personally think it's a good idea. I hate worrying about him the way I did last night.

Instead, however, I shake my head. "No, not really." When he looks over at me in curiosity, I say, "Aside from her saying that you were probably going to be okay. Stuff like that." If I felt guilty lying to Wendy, whatever I'm feeling now when I'm lying to Stan is probably the stuff that originally initiates suicides.

"Oh, okay," he says, looking almost displeased. He looks down at his feet, his hands stuffed deep inside his jeans' pockets, a look of thoughtful disappointment passing across his face.

"Why? I mean, were you...expecting her to say something?" I ask. I know he probably thinks I'm prying, and maybe I am. But I hate seeing him like this; so...so _in love_ with her. Because it seems so phony. Or maybe that's just me being hopeful.

"No, not really. I just...no, never mind. It's not important." He waves his hand as though it will make me forget about him saying anything. The second time in a matter of ten hours that he's done that. God, it's really starting to wear me out. Eventually he'll stop telling me things all together; he'll just wave his hand and say, "Forget," like some fucking magician.

"Fine, whatever," I say, pushing myself off of the locker. I sigh loudly, rolling my eyes. "Jesus, that's getting so old," I murmur under my breath as I start to walk away.

"Hold it," he says, pushing himself off of the lockers and grabbing me by the arm. "What? What is it?" He frowns and I know that he thinks I'm talking about Wendy, that I lied about her not saying anything to me (which I am, but he doesn't have to know that).

I cock my head at him and give him a bored look. "Oh, nothing," I say sarcastically, shaking my head. "It's _nothing_," I add, my voice coated in acerbity. I try to pull out of his grip and continue down the hallway, but Stan keeps me in place.

"No, I don't think so," he says, pulling me backward so that I'm looking him dead in the eye. He stares down at me, waiting for me to repeat myself. When I shrug, a refusal to say anything, his eyes narrow. "Dammit, Kyle, what the hell _is _it?"

"Oh, so it's okay for _you_ to do it, but not me?" I snap, jerking my arm out of his grip and shaking the hair out of my face.

He recoils slightly, looking at me in quandary. "What...what're you talking about?" he asks, letting the arm that had been holding onto mine drop to his side. "Why're you so pissed off this morning?"

"My God," I sigh, shaking my head in forbearance. "You don't even realize when you're doing it, do you?" I ask, raising my eyebrow at him. When he continues to stare at me, I continue, "You do that shit _all_ the time! 'Oh, you know what, Kyle?...oh, never mind. Forget I said anything.' You know, I never 'forget you said something.' I always sit there wondering, what _was_ it that you were gonna' say to me? It's _really_ annoying, because it's obviously important if you think you can't tell _me_."

He holds up his hand, stopping me. "Did I...oh, I did that last night, right?" he asks, and I nod. "Right, well...sometimes you just don't wanna' say something. It didn't even...I mean, it didn't make sense, what I wanted to say. That's why I didn't say it."

He's lying to me. He's lying to me, right to my face. How stupid does he think I am? But he obviously doesn't want to talk about what he refused to tell me last night, so I don't want to push him on it. Instead, I wave my hand, saying, "I understand. Don't worry about it. Sorry I flipped out about it; it's just...I...wanted to come and visit you last night, but my mom had a near panic attack when I asked."

He nods, and he seems to be glad that the earlier issue is settled. "Yeah, that's what I figured happened. No offense, Kyle, but your mom's a bitch."

Years before, someone saying that my mom's a bitch would've _really _pissed me off, but, after a while, you can't argue with the truth. "Yeah. Oh, by the way," I say, leaning toward him, "I heard that you called _me_, but not Wendy."

He snorts. "You sound really thrilled about that. I guess I just felt more comfortable talking to you than her. If I had talked to her, it would've been nothing but, 'Oh, Stan, are you okay? Are you sure? Are they treating you well?' And while I love her for that, I just wasn't up for dealing with it. Besides, it felt good talking to you."

At hearing his last sentence, the frown that had covered my face at hearing Stan say he "loves" Wendy is quickly replaced by a small smile. "Thanks. It's my hot phone voice, isn't it?" I say teasingly, pushing him lightly with my shoulder.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, that's it," he remarks sarcastically, pushing me away with his hand. I stumble a few steps to my left, giving him a mockingly sad look; a look that says, _How could you do that?_

"Stan, you did the wrong thing there. Instead of shoving him away, you're supposed to lean _in_ and go as quickly as you can to first base." Stan and I turn to see Kenny standing behind us, a grin spread across his face.

"God, shut up, Kenny," Stan says, shoving Kenny on the shoulder as he did to me. "Didn't you get enough of that yesterday?"

"I could never get enough of that," he says. "Looks like you're doing pretty good, Stan," he says after a brief pause, changing the subject much to my (and, of course, Stan's) relief. "I heard you went down pretty hard last night."

"Yeah, funny, that's what I heard about you, too," Stan replies, and I laugh, nodding.

"You heard right," Kenny says, nodding along with me. "But I heard they had to call in an ambulance and everything. Is that right or is it just Eric voicing his inner wishes?"

"No, it's true," Stan says. "Like I've told everyone, it wasn't a big deal - "

"Except for the fact that you were knocked unconscious...and the whole concussion thing," I intercept, readjusting my grip on my books. Class is probably going to be starting any second and I can't be late to Calculus. Not that it really matters, I guess. Mrs. Armstrong's usually out getting coffee until over halfway through the class.

"Right, whatever," Stan says, waving his hand in a careless manner. "It could've been worse, had it not been such a shitty team. I mean, if that Denver team had been playing last night, I would've been in a fucking vegetative state right now."

"Heh," Kenny chuckles, shrugging. "Well, I just had to see if it was true or not. But you look good, Stan. Really," he adds, raising an eyebrow.

"Jesus, Kenny, just go to class," Stan says, laughing. Kenny grins, shrugs again, and turns, walking down the hallway to his first period class.

"Sometimes I wonder about that kid," I say, looking back over at Stan. "I mean, seriously, I wonder about him."

"He'll be fine," Stan says just before the bell rings, signaling the students to get the hell into the classrooms. "Oh, gotta' go. I'll see you," he says quickly, turning and running to his locker. He never gets his books out beforehand; always has to wait until the bell rings. And he wonders why he's doing so badly.

"Yeah, see you," I say over my shoulder as I walk down the hallway toward Mrs. Armstrong's classroom. But earlier, when I had commented about Kenny, I hadn't been referring to _him_, per se. I wonder, I really do, whether he has an inkling about me and Stan. I mean, the guy can smell two people having sex from miles away; I'm sure that being able to tell that Stan was the one who had given me that hickey a few days ago would be no biggie for him.

Or maybe that's just Stan's worry rubbing off on me. Most likely.

* * *

"Dude," Stan says as I slam my locker door shut. It's lunch time and I'm more than ready to eat. I haven't had a thing to eat all day. I was so worried/excited about seeing Stan this morning I left without eating any breakfast. Mistake on my part. "We gotta' talk about something." 

"Umm...yeah, sure. Okay," I say, feeling flustered. Of all the times he wants to talk, he has to choose lunch. But it's not like I'm gonna' say no to him, and he knows it.

"C'mon," he says, gesturing for me to follow him. I follow him down the hallway toward the bathrooms. I smile inwardly; I had hoped that he was going to do this today, but I figured, what with his injury, he might not want to.

As we enter the restroom, Stan bends over, checking beneath all of the stalls to make sure that no one is inside. "Okay, listen," he says after the check, "Wendy and I were talking today and she said something about...about me taking a-a...umm..."

"...hiatus?" I suggest, all hopes of a possible make-out session with Stan now completely evaporated from my mind.

"Yeah, right! A hiatus from football - wait, how'd you know that?" he asks, sounding surprised.

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Naturally, I had assumed that Wendy had told him about talking with me about Stan's hiatus, but...apparently I was wrong. "I just - " I begin, praying that a good excuse will form itself in my mind.

"She _told_ you about her wanting me to stop playing football?" he demands, taking a step toward me. "And you didn't tell me? No, you _lied_ to me! You said that she never said anything to you about anything! Why the _fuck_ did you lie about that?"

"Because...I-I...Stan, listen, I - "

"No, I'm not going to _listen_! It's so stupid, Kyle, that you didn't just tell me! Especially about something so...so...I don't even know a word to describe what it is!" Stan slams his fist against the paper towel dispenser and a _smack_ echoes throughout the bathroom.

"Stan, I think that Wendy...she has a point, you know?" Stan turns and looks at me, wide-eyed. "After last night, what happened, maybe it's good that you...that you stop for a game or two. Just until...until you - "

"Holy fucking shit, you _agree_ with her?" he demands. He lets out a short, curt laugh - one that holds no amusement whatsoever - and clutches his hands to his head. "Oh my God, this is insane! The _one_ time you agree with Wendy, and it's about _this_?"

"Just, Stan, listen - "

"No! You two don't seem to-to _get_ it! This sport - football - it's my only goddamn chance of getting into college! It's...my only shot of having a future! And if I stop, even for a...a second, I'm screwed! And I'm not going to let _you_ or _her_ or anyone else stop me from having a future, all right?"

He lets out an angry grunt, walking toward me. He shoves me out of the way and walks to the exit of the bathroom. I stumble back and my back smacks against the wall. He gives me one last angry look before flinging the door open and leaving.

Sighing up at the ceiling, I rest the back of my head against the cool wall of the bathroom, rubbing at my temple. I think I'm going to end up pleading with him to forgive me, to take me back, because, even though I don't want him to keep playing football (just a brief hiatus is all I'm asking!), I'll never be able to stand not being with him.

And, even though he can be a complete asshole, like he was before, I'd never, in a million, million years, consider giving up on being with him. Even if it means demeaning myself, begging him to forgive me. Because, in the end, I know it'll be worth it. Like they (whoever "they" are) say, "All good things take time."

And this could be good. Really good, in fact. Actually, it could be the best thing to happen to me...ever.

I moan in aggrivation, looking over at the door. I'll have to leave some time; might as well be now. I walk over to the door and open it, walking out into the hallway. Interesting; I no longer feel hungry. I wonder if it was the small hope that Stan and I were going to make out, or the fear that Stan was going to murder me in the bathroom.

Either way, I don't really feel like going to lunch. Maybe I'll just get to class early and start planning my speech about how I'm going to get Stan to forgive me for something that he shouldn't even be blaming me for.

This should be interesting. I mean, I'm okay with writing when it comes to term papers and what-not, but I'm not so good with words, to be honest. I'll probably fuck it up somehow, and then he'll never forgive me. I can't deal with that.

I pause in my steps, causing someone - some small Freshmen - to smack into me. She opens her mouth to say something, snaps it shut, and continues down the hallway. Freshmen at this school know not to mess with upper classmen.

Shaking off the feeling that you get after someone runs into you, I resettle into my thoughts. I realize that I _will_ fuck this up if I make myself plan it out. That's my problem when it comes to words; I think about them too much and then I ruin everything. If I want this to go well, I've just gotta suck it up and improvise. Because, maybe, if he sees me struggling with what to say, he'll forgive me.

I turn in the opposite direction and head toward the cafeteria - I'm only assuming that Stan will be there. In all honesty, he could've gone anywhere, even home; that's how pissed off he was.

I round a corner and stop as soon as I see someone leaning against his forehead against the lockers, pounding against them lightly with a clenched fist. I know right away it's Stan, but I don't say anything until I approach him. Looks like I lucked out in the "finding him" problem.

"Hey," I say softly, causing him to pull away from the lockers in surprise. He looks at me, frowns, then leans his forehead against the lockers once again. "Stan, look, I'm - " God, how do I say this without sounding like some girl in a chick flick? "I'm sorry about not telling you what Wendy said. I just thought it would be better if I didn't say anything about it. Actually, I had no idea she was going to tell you. She even asked me not to tell you."

Stan pulls away and looks at me in an almost untrusting way. "She did? She told you not to tell me?"

I nod quickly; it looks like I'm making progress. He's talking to me, that's better then getting the cold shoulder. "Yeah, she felt guilty after she said it, so she made me promise not to tell. Which seems useless now, seeing how _she's_ the one who told you."

"Well, she was worried," Stan says and I frown. Why is he making excuses for her? Two minutes ago, not even, he was ready to kill something, and now he's _defending _her? What the fuck is going on?

"Well, so was I," I tell him, crossing my arms. "You know that, right? You know how worried I was last night when it happened, how glad I was when you called? You know that I care, too, right?" The questions fly out of my mouth so quickly that I can't stop them. I just hope he answers me.

He smiles at me, reaching out and tousling my hair. "Yeah, I know," he says, leaning down to whisper in my ear: "C'mon, follow me." He walks past me, back toward the restroom. He glances back at me, his smile widening. "Don't worry, I don't wanna' talk this time."

I grin, running ahead to walk next to him. I guess I was right; I didn't need a plan to get him to forgive me. Improvisation works just fine.

_To Be Continued..._


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Well, not a "quick" update, but an update nonetheless. At least it took less than two months, right? Anyway, many thanks to Fletset, Faery Goddyss, "Spice Of Life," Out Of Tune, Lifelike, Draco-luver, Mr.Baka, Leela's tears, and "1#stanfan" for reviewing Chapter Six!

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Life's greatest happiness is  
to be convinced we are loved.  
-Victor Hugo

Mortal lovers must not try  
to remain at the first step;  
for lasting passion is the  
dream of a harlot and from  
it we wake in despair.  
-C. S. Lewis

And now he's gone and all  
they say is you gotta live life  
'cause life goes on, but now  
I see I'm mortal too. I  
can't live my life like you.  
-Green Day "J.A.R."

It was right when you  
loved me only, but wrong  
when you held another tight.  
So before you go away and  
leave me lonely; if you can't  
undo the wrong undo the right.  
-Willie Nelson "Undo the Right"

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

It's hard to believe that it's been over two weeks since Stan and I "got together." It seems like it's gone by so quickly, but I guess love will do that to you. Especially when you actually _have_ the one you want.

But it's not always easy. There is that one _tiny_, little factor in play: his girlfriend. She's _always_ in the way; calling Stan when we're "doing homework" in either his or my room, making plans with him so far in advance I almost think she's competing with me for him, and, of course, the fact that they're _still_ dating. It makes me feel so sick every time Stan says he's going out with her. Because I never, never know what they're doing, and I really don't want to ask.

But it's so hard to be angry with him for dating Wendy. Before each of their dates (as far as I know), Stan calls me. At first, it really confused me, but now I see it as more of an apology. I think he knows that it can't really go anywhere with Wendy; he's just doing it to keep up the act. But still...it makes me feel even worse whenever I see her.

It's sweet, sure, when he calls, because he always sounds so sorry. And then, after he tells me that the two of them are going out, he always, _always_ follows it with, "So...how're you doing?" Like he thinks that I'm automatically miserable and jealous because he's going to be with her.

Which I am, but he doesn't have to just assume that.

Like just this past Saturday, I was sitting at home watching TV with Ike when the phone rang. Lately I've been catching myself practically flying over things to get to the telephone first, hoping and praying that it's Stan calling - which, interestingly enough, it usually is.

"Hello?" I said, out of breath from the dash across the room. I really worked hard to answer it first that time. If my mom had gotten to it first, she would've talked Stan's ear off with questions about his injury and whatnot. I mean, God, can't she just leave the guy alone?

_"Hey,"_ Stan said and already I knew he was going out with her. He had that apologetic, don't-hate-me voice on - the one that always gets my stomach charning with that oh-too-recognizable feeling of jealousy. And misery; let's not forget that. _"What's up?"_

"Not much. Got a date with _Wendy?_" I asked, saying Wendy's name in such a thick voice you would've thought I really hated the girl. I probably shouldn't have gone right to that, but that _was_ why he had called. me, right? God forbid he should call on a Saturday night and ask to spend time with _me_. _Calm down,_ I told myself.

_"Yeah,"_ he said monotonously. _"Going to the movies and back to her house and whatever. So...how're you doing?"_

I clenched my teeth. _I hate it when he asks that,_ I thought. _I'm not overly-controlling; why does he always do that?_ "Fine. Hey, Stan?" I added, inhaling deeply. After a brief pause, I continued, "Why do you always ask me that after you say you're going out with Wendy?"

_"Say what?"_ he asked, sounding genuinely confused by my question.

"'How're you doing?" I replied, repeating his earlier question. "Look, I understand, okay? I know you don't want to come out to everyone yet, and, actually, neither do I. I get it; you need to keep dating Wendy. Don't worry about me. I understand." I heard the words that were spilling from my mouth and I stood, wide-eyed, the phone in my hand. Had I really said all that bullshit? Of _course_ I don't understand it. But he's not ready and I don't want to do it without him.

_"...really?"_ he asked softly. _"You sure?"_

I rolled my eyes, switching the phone from one ear to the other. "Yes, Mr. Marsh. I'm sure." That's why I can never understand Stan - he acts like he really, really loves me, but just won't admit it. As if it wasn't hard enough discovering I'm gay; now Stan has to act like _this_? My high school years shouldn't be this hard.

"That's..." I heard him breath what I thought was a sigh of relief. "...that's good," he finished. "I don't know why I thought I had to ask. I just know it's not fair to you, me dating Wendy and all. Because I want to spend time with you, too."

Now he had to go and make me feel bad. Jesus, Stan. "Oh, it's all right. Besides, we _have_ been spending time together. I've helped you study almost every night last week." I smiled at the memories - the kissing, running our hands through each other's hair, and the passion...I swear, one night I'm going to go over there to help him study and walk away without my virginity. I wish. I mean, the closest we've ever come is a little through-the fabric accidental touching. Not that I'm some whore like Kenny, but come on...

Stan chuckled_. "Yeah, that's true. Speaking of which, my parents are going out tomorrow night. Wanna' come over and study then?"_

"Seriously? Where're they going?" Somewhere where they won't be home until late, I hoped.

_"Uhh...Jesus, I don't know. Some adult thing - "_

I almost laughed out loud. "Some adult thing?" I repeated through chuckles. "What're your parents up to, Stan?" I asked in my most teasing voice.

He groaned. _"Shut up, dude. That's sick. I don't need to be imagining that."_

"Well, you shouldn't have said it," I replied, shrugging. "But, yeah, tomorrow night sounds fine."

Stan scoffed. _"Sure your mom won't mind? I mean, it _is_ a school night, Kyle Broflovski_."

"Please. She thinks it's great I'm doing this for you. Besides, she likes you."

_"She wouldn't if she knew what I was doing to you," _he replied and, almost comically, we both fell silent. After all, it _was_ true, wasn't it? I couldn't stand it if my mom hated Stan; I'd never be able to see him again. Same went for his mom.

"I'll see you," I said quickly, wanting to end the conversation.

_"Okay." _In the background, I heard a doorbell ring. _"Perfect timing. Wendy's here. I'll see you tomorrow, Kyle, okay? Bye."_

I said my good-bye and hung up, a smile on my face. "Who was that?" I turn at the voice that came from behind me. "Stan?" Ike asked, a smile that had matched mine across his face.

"Umm...yeah," I replied. I liked Ike better when he had been younger. Had he heard us? Most likely not; he had been across the room and I had been talking quietly. But still...

"Okay," he said, hopping back over to the couch and turning his attention back to the television. I rolled my eyes at him. Kids.

* * *

That was last night. Right now I'm sitting in Stan's room, hunched over a math book, helping him study. After all, in spite of really wanting to kiss, he _does_ need to pass his classes. His head is practically touching mine, but he's heavily focused. I wish I was.

"I think I've got it," he says, placing his pencil down on the table, looking both satisfied and confident. "Thanks so much, Kyle."

I shrug. "It's no problem. What else am I here for?" I meant for the question to come out jokingly, but even I can hear the level of seriousness it contained. I really want to know; what else _am_ I here for?

Responding to my question, he smiles softly and leans forward, capturing my lips beneath his. His hand rests on the back of my neck, drawing me closer. I break the kiss after only a few moments. "When are your parents getting home?" I ask, voicing the only concern I have at the moment.

"Not until later," he replies, reaching behind me and flipping off the only light that had been on, surrounding us in darkness. Our lips are so close they're almost touching, so he doesn't have to move much to restart the kiss. It's deeper this time, and there is so much more passion behind it. His tongue brushes mine and I tense up; his hand moves almost automatically to my back as he gently rubs circles and the tension leaves my body almost immediately.

I can hear and feel him as he pulls his chair closer to mine; the legs of his chair hit mine, resulting in an echoing crash. Neither of us respond to the sudden noise. In fact, it seems to bring us closer. I lean in closer to him, pressing my chest against his. My hand reaches up and rests on the center of his chest. His heart is racing.

We break our lingering kiss after a few moments to catch our breath. As we pant softly, we look at each other with a such an intensity that I can swear I can see the sparks flying. His hands slide down my back to my waist. Slowly, gently, he pulls me toward him until I'm sitting on his lap, our eyes never leaving each others.

For once, I'm the one looking down at him. I rest my forehead against his and wrap my arms around his neck. Once I feel that I have regained my breath, I lean in again, with a new air of confidence, and press my lips fiercely against his. He responds by slowly kissing down my face and jaw until he reaches my neck.

I sigh softly when he sucks on the spot on my neck just below my jaw line. I close my eyes and lean into his touch, relishing the wonder I feel.

My chest tightens in surprise when he slides his hand up my shirt. His hands are cold, and I shudder. "What are you doing?" I whisper. It might be a stupid question to ask, but I've never done anything like this before. I'm not sure what to do or how to react to it.

He pulls away and looks at me in concern. "I thought...you wanted..." he trails off. I can see the beads of sweat on his face even in spite of the darkness.

"I do," I reply. "I just...don't know. I've never...you know...I've never been this close with...anyone." It hurts to admit it, and it's almost embarrassing, but he doesn't seem to mind.

He nods in understanding. "It's okay. I'm confused, too. I've never been with a guy...don't worry. It'll be okay." He says it so lovingly and beautifully that I melt into his touch. He smiles and runs his hand through my hair. His fingers catch on a few tangles, but I don't feel the tugging. I feel numb; my whole body is tingling.

"Okay," I whisper, smiling. His blue eyes shine back into mine and he glances toward the couch.

"Wanna' move over there?" he asks, jerking his head toward the couch. I nod; I don't really think I can talk. He moves me off of him and into a standing position. He takes my hand in his and moves over to the couch, my hand tightly in his. He seems so excited by this, and not at all as nervous as I am. But maybe he's just good at hiding it.

He sits down on the couch and pulls me down beside him. Dizziness sweeps over me as he continues kissing my neck, one hand running through my hair, the other drawing zigzag lines on my chest underneath my shirt.

Maybe this is happening too fast. I love him, there's no doubting that, but I don't know how to feel about this. But maybe, after all I've been through, this is my time. My chance to have him as _mine_. Don't I deserve that? And he seems to want to do this...he seems to want _me_ and only me. And, God, that makes me feel so good.

His hand is moving lower, I can feel it. He kisses up my neck and presses his lips tightly against mine. They're so warm and perfect and I want this so badly, I really do. His eyelashes brush against my closed eyelids, sending a tingle across my face.

His hand brushes over the zipper of my pants and I tense up again. Too much is happening too fast. What do I want? A buzzing sound fills my ears as he slides the zipper down. God, what do I want? I'd better decide soon, or else...

Too late. His hand is rubbing slowly in between my legs and his tongue is practically down my throat. And it's everything I've ever wanted. And maybe even more, because it's _him_. I kiss him back fiercely, and this seems to be a cue for him to continue. His rubbing becomes faster. Automatically, I arch my back toward his touch.

His hand slides out of my hair to the back of my neck. He pulls me closer; so close that my nose is pressed into his face and our eyes can't be more than half an inch apart. I feel complete ecstasy. My lips part slowly and a moan escapes my lips. His hand is moving even faster, and my heart is beating a mile a minute.

After a few minutes, I reach my limit. A long, loud moan escapes from the back of my throat and my body untenses. He pulls away and his hand moves back up. His hands caress my face and he gives me a soft kiss.

I stare into his bright blue eyes and my chest is about to burst. I can't believe what he just did, and yet...it's real. He smiles softly and I watch as his whole face brightens with a shining resilience. And I love him; I really do. He's beautiful and perfect and...

"I love you," I whisper, and I feel a weight lifted off of my shoulders at the speaking of those three words that I had held inside for so long.

"I know," he whispers back, lying his head on my chest. "I know you do." I wait in silence a few seconds longer, waiting for him to say he loves me back. But the words never come, and the silence is never broken. My eyes burn and suddenly everything blurs. The tears slip out of my eyes and trail down my face, but he doesn't notice.

Why won't he say that he loves me? Is he that scared of what would happen if he did? He knows that I love him. Does he know how much it hurts to say that you love someone, but to not get the love back in return?

I think I hurt less when the love had been bottled up inside.

I pretend to cough so that I am able to wipe my tears away. I glance at the clock. "Shit," I say, bolting upright. My legs buckle under my weight and I sway suddenly. Stan grabs my arm, keeping me standing. "I've gotta' go. My curfew's in, like, ten minutes."

"Okay," he says, standing up beside me. He releases his hold on my arm as we walk toward the door. "I'll drive you."

"No, I'll be fine - " I protest, shaking my head.

"Dude, it's freezing and it's dark. I'm driving you." With that, he grabs his jacket off of a hook on the wall and pulls it on. He looks at me, grinning. "Your zipper," he says, raising an eyebrow.

I look down and chuckle in embarrassment. "Thanks," I say as I zip it up. "That would've been interesting, going home like that," I add as we walk outside to his car.

On the ride home, I have nothing to say; nothing that already hasn't been said. I'm waiting for him to break the silence and say, "Oh, by the way, I love you, too," but I know he won't. He's too afraid to. But maybe it'll be okay. After what just happened - what he did to...for me - I still haven't really been able to react to his silence.

We pull up to my house in a rolling stop. "Here you go," he says with a smile.

"Thanks," I say, staring at him. But I don't move; I keep staring. Maybe if I stare long enough, he'll find the courage to say those words. I did, and I'm not half the man he is.

But the silence remains, and he stares back at me. "What?" he asks softly, as though I've been staring at him in the wrong way.

I sigh. "Nothing," I say, turning from him and opening the door. "I'll see you tomorrow," I add as I slam the door shut, not giving him another chance to say something.

I walk up the steps and I hear his car pull away, and he's gone. Gone without another word. I open the front door and walk inside. "Hello Kyle," my mom says, waving at me from the living room. "Back right on time. That Stan's such a good boy, bringing you home right on curfew."

"Yeah, he's great," I reply with a sad smile. Now that the adrenaline from Stan's touch has begun to wear off, my emotions are beginning to come back to me. "I'm going to bed, Mom," I toss over my shoulder as I climb up the stairs to my room.

I open the door, walk inside, and then slam it shut. I'm pissed off. I can't believe that Stan would do _that_ and then not say he loves me! And I actually said it to him; I told him that I love him. And I do, I really do. So much. But how could he...? Why can't he just...? I need him to say it! I want him to say that he loves me, so that I know he's brave enough to be with me. I want him so badly, and I've never needed anyone like this before. Why's he so goddamn blind? He said he knew, too. He knew that I love him, and still...

I know it's hard for him, but he should know that he's not in this alone.

And there was something else, too. Usually he runs through his and Wendy's date, but not tonight. I sit down on my bed, just now realizing this. My stomach churns. Should I be worried. Or...or maybe he's going to break up with her, but he wants to surprise me!

I mentally slap myself. Please, like he'd do _that_. Football season's not over, not by a long shot. I don't get it. Why's he being so...I don't know...

I undress, being careful to scrunch up my underwear and hide them in the center of the dirty clothes hamper. I don't need my mom seeing those before I have a chance to clean them. I dress for bed, then climb inside my bed, turning off the light beside my bed.

The darkness engulfs me. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to get myself to not think about tonight. But, of course, it's all I can think about. After all, it's the closest I've ever been with _anyone_ in my life. But, as a result of thinking about the better part of the night, the worst part manages to squeeze itself into my mind as well.

It replays itself over and over in my mind, as though taunting me. _"I love you,"_ I had said. _"I know," _he had replied. It just doesn't seem right, how it worked out. I don't care if he knows that I love him - obviously I know that he knows, since I _was_ the one who said it.

I pause my thoughts, stopping myself. Why is his saying he loves me so damn important to me? I mean, I know he does; I can tell by the way he kisses me. Shouldn't that be enough, knowing that he does?

Maybe it's because I'm really not so sure that he does. What if I'm just some guy he wants to fool around with? He could go back to Wendy at any time and dump me. Because it's not like he'll feel any remorse if he never says he loves me. Maybe _that's_ what's really bothering me about it.

Tears slip out of my eyes, trailing down my face and dampening my pillow. It hurts to even think about, Stan leaving me for Wendy, the girl he claims he loves so much. Why is it that he can lie to her about me, but he can't find it in himself to be honest with me?

More tears fall down my face. I don't even know why I'm crying; all I know is that I won't be able to stop. In a matter of seconds I'm sobbing. I press my wet face into my pillow, hoping that my parents won't hear me crying. I'm really not in the mood to talk to them about...anything right now.

God, why does the guy I love have to be so stubborn and afraid?

* * *

School really is the place that makes me really nervous. I could swear that everyone I've passed in the hallway is talking with someone about what Stan and I did last night. No matter whom I pass, I can hear the sound of whispering, of secrets and gossip being exchanged. It makes me so uncomfortable.

"Did you hear?" I hear a girl whisper to another as I stop at my locker. Out of pure curiousity, I turn my head toward the voice. Bebe - the school gossip - is talking to a girl. I don't know who the girl is, just that she's in my class. "It's about Stan and Wendy!" Bebe adds in a stage whisper.

Now she's got _my_ full attention, if not the girl's. I continue rummaging through my locker, my ears glued to the conversation. Did they break up? And if they did, why hasn't Stan told me about it?

"On Saturday night," Bebe continues, out of breath from (what I assume is) telling to many people, "Stan and Wendy went to her house and _did it_!" The girl squeals and I freeze. A book slips out of my locker and lands on my sneaker. Under any other circumstances, it would've hurt, but right now I'm too much in shock.

"Kyle!" Bebe shouts, walking over to me. "You heard, right? That Stan and Wendy finally did it for the first time? I can't believe it! Wendy always said she wanted to wait, but she really loves Stan so much that I guess she couldn't! Isn't that insane?"

Biting on my tongue to stop the tears, I nod. "Yeah," I say. "That _is_ insane." Obviously Bebe doesn't notice my pain; she's already off skipping to another group of people, ready to fill them in on the scoop of the day.

I think I'm going to be sick. Stan and Wendy did _it_ on...Saturday night? But Stan and I were together _last_ night. That means...

Oh, God, I _am_ going to be sick. My stomach lurches. I've got to find Stan. Maybe it's just a rumor. But if Bebe heard it from Wendy, how could it be? Wendy wouldn't lie about something like that.

I walk to Stan's locker. He's putting his books in his locker when I walk up to him. "Hey," he says, grinning down at me. He sounds and looks so innocent. Maybe it _is_ just a rumor. It could be, couldn't it? "What's up?"

"Why don't you tell me?" I hiss, anger spewing out of my voice. "You know what I just heard? That on Saturday night - " At these words, Stan's eyes already begin to widen. Shit. " - you and Wendy went to her house and 'did it.'" I cross my arms, no longer wanting to be sick or cry. I just want to hear it from him. "Is it right? Or just some shitty high school rumor?"

He swallows nervously. "I...I'm sorry," he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear him. "But I couldn't stop it!" he adds, as though that fact will make everything okay. "She said she was ready and...what could I do?"

"Say no!" I say, not giving any attempt to keep my voice down. "You say no, that you're not ready; she says 'Okay, just let me know when you are,' and then there's no problem! And then _this_ doesn't happen!" Now there are tears in my eyes, but I wipe them away in anger.

His mouth is open but no words are coming out. "I'm sorry," he says again and I roll my eyes, scoffing. "I just...I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry."

"And then...and then you and I..._we_ do...what we did last night, and - " I shudder. "Well, I hope you took a fucking shower before I came over, Stan!"

I turn to leave but a hand grabs me by the shoulder. "Kyle, don't." I turn to look back at him, my eyes burning in either fury or tears. I'd guess both. "I didn't want this to happen. I don't want you pissed at me. Please, I'm really sorry."

I force a laugh, shaking my head in pity. "You know what, Stan? Maybe you _are_ sorry. Maybe...maybe you didn't want it to happen. But it did, and you know why? Because you don't have the fucking balls to say no. To say what - or who - you _really_ want. And it's like I told you last night; I love you, I really do, but I can't keep doing this with someone who can't even admit what he wants, just because he's too fucking afraid."

The tears are building up in my eyes. I turn, this time, sparing no extra time walking away - I don't want him to try and stop me. I sprint down the hallway, ignoring the awkward glances I'm receiving. I don't care what they think. I just can't stay here right now.

I stop when I reach the nurse's office. "Excuse me," I say to the woman sitting behind the desk. "I'm not feeling well. Can I call my mother?" I sound like a little kid, crying and begging to call home.

"Of course, sweetie," she says, handing me the receiver. "Just punch in your number." As I begin to dial, she pulls out a notebook. "What's your name?"

I pause at the fifth number. "Kyle Broflovski," I reply, dialing the last numbers. The phone rings once. _Please be home,_ I think, pleading with her.

On the second ring, she picks up. _"Hello?"_

"Mom," I say, sounding rushed. "Mom, it's Kyle." I listen for a few seconds as she demands to know what's wrong, why I'm calling her. "I don't feel well," I tell her. "I think I need to go home."

"_Well...are you sure?"_ I tell her that I am. _"All right. But only because this is the first time it's happened since...elementary school."_

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mom." Before we hang up, she tells me to pack up, because she'll be there in ten minutes. "Thank you," I tell the woman, handing her back the telephone.

"You're welcome," she says, smiling at me. I sniff, trying to force the tears back inside. It's humiliating crying in front of a teacher - sure, she's a nurse, but still. She stares at me a moment, then hands me a tissue. Where'd she get that from? Not caring, I take it, wiping at my nose.

"Thanks," I say for the third time since entering her office, crumpling the tissue up in my fist. "I really needed that."

"I could tell," she says, her eyes kind. She reaches forward, placing a hand on my forehead. "You're not hot," she states. Of course I'm not; I'm not sick, I'm miserable. Can't you see that? Her hand slides down to my cheek, caressing it, and she looks at me. "Trouble?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's just this…" I fight off the urge to break down and tell her everything. She's not getting _anything_ out of me. She's a _nurse_, not the school shrink. "…thing," I finish. "My friend did this really shitty - " I pause, looking at her to see if she cares that I said that word. She nods, asking me to continue " – this really bad thing, and I just can't look at him today. Don't tell my mom, though; she'll flip out."

The nurse nods as though she and I now suddenly share this incredible secret (and maybe we do) and lets her hand drop away from my face. I can't believe I used to be afraid of the nurse when I was younger. Given, _that_ nurse was freaky, but still…

"Thanks," I say again. I'm beginning to hate that word. "I've gotta' go. Bye." I give her a sort of half-wave before turning and leaving her office.

I stop at my locker and pile all of my books into my book bag. I can't believe it, still. And I probably wouldn't be nearly as mad if he had just told me. Well, okay, I'd still be _really_ pissed off, but not nearly as much. Maybe I wouldn't be regretting what happened last night…because I'm really starting to.

As promised, exactly ten minutes go by since my phone call and my mother is waiting in the car, right out front. I smile softly. Thank God my mom's punctual – I can't imagine having to wait longer.

I climb into the car, giving a fake cough just for the hell of it. "How're you feeling, Booby?" she asks, pulling out of the school parking lot.

"Ehh," I reply, giving her a so-so gesture with my hand. "Not that good. I think I really need to sleep it off or something."

"All right, but you know the rules. If you're too sick for school, you're too sick for TV and junk food." Dammit. Forgot about "The Rules."

"Yeah, I know. Trust me; all I'll be doing is sleeping and homework." I sigh, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the car window.

As I stare out at the trees and buildings that fly by, it hits me. I've just lost the person who mattered most to me. And while I know I shouldn't forgive him for it, I don't know what I'm going to do. After all, Stan still has Wendy, phony as it may be.

And what's he going to do without me? I close my eyes, letting the coolness of the glass sink in. I guess he's just going to keep living the lie. After all, how's he going to admit it if he doesn't even have who _he_ supposedly wants?

_To Be Continued…_


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Yay! A quick update! -dances-

So, so much thanks go out to Fletset, "person with an email," Faery Goddyss, Lifelike, "Spice Of Life," Lilchicky004, and Jean19, who reviewed the last chapter. I love you all! And I hope you keep reviewing; I'm trying to get over one hundred reviews for this story. Here's hoping!

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

A heart can be broken, but it  
will keep beating just the same.  
-Ninny Threadgoode: _Fried Green Tomatoes_

Oh, sweet sorrow, the time  
you borrow, will you be here  
when I wake up tomorrow?  
- Katherine Wolf

Sometimes I feel so sad.  
Sometimes I feel so happy,  
But mostly you just make me mad.  
Baby, you just make me mad.  
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.  
-Velvet Underground "The Pale Blue Eyes"

My broken heart has bled  
With memories of a love that's dead  
Sometimes happy then sad  
I need love, love help me.  
-Deep Purple "Love Help Me"

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

I can't stand it, still - what he did. Especially after last night. I just thank God that we didn't have sex or else I'd _really_ feel sick. I mean, how fucking disgusting would _that _have been? I can't believe he didn't tell me. And after I confessed my love to him...

Wait, could his sleeping with Wendy have anything to do with him not saying he loves me back? God, if she screwed that up for me...I don't know what I'll do. Sometimes I'm so tempted to just come right out and tell her; but since I mainly want to do it for revenge, I've been able to restrain myself. But it's getting harder to. On the whole ride home from school with my mom, I was _this_ close to coming out to her. Keeping this inside has been so hard. It feels like I'm lying to her - to everyone.

My pencil's tapping the corner of my math notebook. How long have I been doing that? I grip the pencil tighter and force myself to look down at the homework. At the left hand side of the lined paper, there is a "1)" and then...nothing. I could've sworn I had done at least one problem. God, what the hell's wrong with me?

Maybe I overreacted to the whole Stan thing. It's not _that_ big of a deal, is it? He seemed so sorry and acted like he really didn't want to do it. Maybe I should just forgive him now. I'm going to end up doing it anyway.

_No!_ my mind shouts at me. I shake my head, wondering what I was thinking - forgiving Stan already shouldn't have even crossed my mind. If anything, I'm going to let _him_ come to _me_, begging and pleading, saying, _"I'm so sorry, Kyle! I never should've done it! I love _you,_ not her!"_ I smile. Him doing that would definitely be a start for letting me forgive him.

_Focus!_ My eyes are back on the paper, reading the math problem that I have been staring at for over twenty minutes. Why can't I get myself to concentrate? This is even worse than when Stan and I were together, or even when I was crushing on him. Looks like he was my stronghold for schoolwork or something.

I hear the phone ring but I don't make any move to answer it. Even if it _is_ for me, I can't afford the distraction. It's so messed up; I know all of this math; why can't I get myself to just _do_ it? Hating the look of a blank page, I do the least I possibly can: I copy down the problem from the text book.

A knock on the door. My mother - I heard her wedding ring hitting the door when she knocked. "Kyle, honey!" she calls through. "It's for you!"

"Who is it, Mom?" I call back, suddenly feeling able to do the problem. I scribble down the work, getting ever closer to the answer.

"It's Stan," she replies and I moan inwardly. I'm so not in the mood for this. And does he think he's being fucking romantic, calling during the school lunch hour? At any other time, my mind would've gone straight to "He loves me!" But now I don't even want to answer the call.

"All right. I got it," I say, rolling off of the bed and walking over to the doorway, where my mother's arm has appeared, holding out the cordless phone. "Thanks," I add, taking the phone from her. After her hand disappears and the door closes, I press the phone to my ear. "What do you want?" I ask in my best _don't talk to me _voice.

"Kyle, dude, listen. I don't want you feeling this way. Please, just hear me out - " Whatever he wanted to say, I'm not going to hear. I press the disconnect button and there is a beep as the call ends. I carry the phone across the room to my bed, where I lie down and continue doing homework.

Suddenly doing the math is no problem. I fly through the problems - with only one more interruption from Stan, yet again. Luckily, after the second try, he gives up and I don't hear from him again. I slam my math book closed, sighing in relief as I always do when my homework is finished.

I swallow, feeling hungry. I climb off of the bed and, grabbing the phone, walk across the room and exit. I walk slowly down the stairs then into the living room. I place the cordless phone back on the receiver, glancing over at my mom, who's sitting on the couch reading The Broker. "I'm all done, Mom," I say, causing her to look up at me.

"Well, I should hope so," she says, dog-earing the page and closing the book. "You've been up in your room doing homework for a few hours now. Hungry?" she asks and I nod. She stands, crossing the room to where I'm standing, and, together, we walk into the kitchen. "So, what did Stan want?" she asks, opening the refrigerator.

"Just trying to annoy me," I say seriously, but she laughs, as though I had made a joke.

"You two are so adorable together," she says, shaking her head. "And I'm glad you're seeing more of him. Ever since he got together with that girlfriend of his, he's been ignoring you." Wow, even my mom noticed that? Sounds like it was getting pretty bad. "It was beginning to annoy me, how he could just blow you off like that."

If Kenny had been here right now, he would've burst out laughing at my mom's last words. "It's not _that_ big a deal," I say, shrugging. "He's in a relationship. I respect that."

She shakes her head at me. "Stan's lucky to have such an understanding friend, Kyle. But I don't think that you should let him walk all over you; let him know if you're feeling ignored."

"Sure, Mom," I promise, wanting to end the conversation before it gets too out of hand. "Thanks for the sandwich," I add, taking the sandwich she had been making for me all while we had been talking.

"Sure, Booby," she says with a smile, pinching my cheek lightly. "You're such a handsome boy." She frowns suddenly, running her hand through my hair. "But you're in desperate need of a haircut. I'm going to schedule you one for this weekend."

"Hey!" I say defensively, touching my hair with the hand not holding the sandwich. "I like my hair. Don't take that away from me! What will I be without it?"

"Oh, Lord, Kyle, just a trim is all I'm asking." She sighs loudly at me. "Sometimes you're so...so..."

"Animated?" I finish, grinning through a mouthful of food. Animated - I can't even _think _the word without thinking of Stan. Why does everything have to remind me of him? My smile quickly fades. I think I'm really starting to miss him, and it's only been a few hours since we "broke up."

"What's wrong, honey?" my mom asks, looking at me with curious eyes. Oh, Mom, I wish I could tell you, but I'm not ready to disappoint you just yet. Of course, you've always got Ike to be the straight, will-give-you-grandkids son.

"Nothing," I reply, shoving the last of the sandwich into my mouth. "I'm going upstairs," I add, my words almost incomprehensible because of the food in my mouth.

I dash upstairs, slamming the door behind me as I run into my room. I pause, staring at my bed for a moment before leaping onto it, burying my face into the covers, deeply inhaling the scent that says the covers were just washed.

I think the worst feeling in the world is feeling so, so alone when you know that everyone else has someone to make them feel...complete, I guess is the word.

Across the room, something beeps. I look up in the direction of the noise. It sounded like my cell phone. With a groan of aggravation, I stand and stumble across the room to my dresser and pick up my cell phone. _One Missed Call,_ it tells me. Great. Now Stan's trying to reach me through my cell? God, he's really getting desperate.

I press a button and the _One Missed Call_ disappears, instantly replaced with _New Voicemail Message_. "Come on," I moan, rolling my eyes. I stare at the three words on the screen for a moment, and then press SEND, connecting to my voicemail.

_I am going to regret this,_ I tell myself. No, I'm not going to give in to whatever he says. I'm going to keep the cold shoulder in effect. If he really wants me, he'll fight for me.

I punch in my pass code, slumping down on the bed as I listen to the automated voice run through all of the options. Finally, I hear the words, "...one new message. To listen to this message, press one." I press the required button, waiting impatiently as the voice tells me the date and time of the call. Only a few minutes ago. I guess that's what I get for leaving the room. I could've hung up on him again and spared myself having to run through all of this.

_"Hey Kyle, its - it's Stan." _Despite my resistance, my ears perk up at the sound of his voice and I have to brutally fight off a smile. _"Listen, I just want you to know...I'm really sorry (but I guess you're probably sick of hearing me say that)."_ Yeah, I am. Nice job. _"But you've gotta' know that I really didn't want to do...it. I swear. And I probably should've told you what happened Saturday before I...you know. But I just want you to know that I really, really care about you, and I can't stand even thinking that you hate me, 'cause I know you do._

_"I just...I just want to move ahead - away from this, you know? Seriously, I couldn't even concentrate in school today after the fight. I really wanted to see you, all day. I didn't even eat lunch - I'm going to pay for _that_ today during practice. God, I'm such a dick, doing what I did and not telling you, especially when you've been there for me so much and everything. Look, I've gotta' go. But I hope you can think about forgiving me, 'cause I really am sorry, and I care about you so much, dude. Just...call me at home later, would you? Okay...bye."_

Wow. It's not the complete groveling I wanted, but it's pretty close. "To erase this message, press two," the automated voice instructs me. I raise my hand, ready to press two, then pause. "To save this message, press three." Without a second thought, I press three, giving in to the urge to smile. After all, I'll probably want to listen to that later. It's no declaration of love, but it's damn near close.

I place the phone on the bed beside me. Maybe forgiving Stan isn't the worst idea. Sure, I'll have to deal with all of his Wendy issues, but knowing that he cares more for me than her...that really makes it all worth it. Almost.

* * *

I glance at the clock. It's almost seven o'clock. Stan should be home by now. My hand clenches my cell phone - I'll admit it; I've listened to his message about, oh, twenty times since I first got it. I really want to forgive him, I really do. But what's to stop him from sleeping with Wendy again? I don't know if I can take it if he does it twice. It's not fair to either Wendy or me. 

And what hurts the most is that I wanted my time with Stan to be _both_ his and my first time. It probably sounds extremely mushy and shit, but it would've been great, both of us being able to say, "You're the only one I've been with this way."

...ugh, I almost wish I hadn't just thought that. I'm just lucky I didn't say it out loud. That would've been the most obvious way to come out without even saying, "I'm gay."

But in all honesty I'd have no real trouble admitting it - who I am. Except to my dad, because I really don't know what to expect from him. I don't _think_ he has any trouble with homosexuality in general, but I _am_ his son. Who knows, maybe it'll be fine. But, again, I have to wait for Stan before I do anything. After all, he's _still_ worried about being found out. I don't want to risk anything that could have a possible domino effect.

I stare at the phone and inhale deeply. I quickly dial his home phone number before I have a chance to change my mind. It rings once, twice, then, halfway through the third ring, Mrs. Marsh - I mean, Sharon - answers. "Hi, Mrs. Marsh, it's Kyle. Is Stan home?"

_"Oh, hello, Kyle. No, Stan's not home. He and the football team went out for dinner with the coach, since they only have a few games left in the season."_

"Oh, okay," I reply, rubbing at my temple. It's for the best, maybe. It'd probably be easier to just talk to him in person tomorrow.

_"He'll be home soon,"_ Mrs. Marsh - Sharon! Dammit! - tells me in an obvious attempt to make me feel better. My response _did_ sound pretty upset, especially considering she can't see my expression. _"Would you like me to tell him you called?"_

"Umm...no, that's all right. I'll see him tomorrow in school; I'll talk to him then. Thanks though."

_"No problem, sweetie. Tell your mother I said hi, would you?" _After replying that I will, we exchange good-byes and hang up in unison. I flop back on the bed, my face staring up at the ceiling. Well, that phone call was a complete waste of my time and worrying.

I yawn. How am I tired already? It's only seven. Today _was_ exhausting, though. There's nothing like getting your heart ripped out, then put back in to really wear you out.

The question floats around in my mind, telling me to come up with an answer. Am I going to forgive Stan tomorrow? I really have no idea what the hell I'm going to do or say, but I think I'll leave it up to the fates of improvisation again. Worked out pretty well a few weeks ago, I remember. Who knows? Maybe he'll do something really great - or really stupid - and that'll be my deciding factor.

* * *

"Sweetheart, you _have_ to eat something before school! Breakfast is the most important - " 

"I know, Mom; the most important meal of the day, but I - "

"Don't interrupt me, Ike!" I sigh through a bite of pancakes, wondering what in the hell they're arguing about now. Not two minutes ago they were fighting about what Ike's going to do for his science project and now they've moved on to breakfast? God, just shut the hell up already.

Finally, Ike gives in and plops down at the table next to me. As Mom pours him a bowl of cereal he whispers to me, "Why can't she leave me alone? She knows I don't like eating in the morning. It makes me sick."

I shrug, swallowing. "Just take a few bites and run," I say, shoving the last remaining bite into my mouth. I stand, wiping at my shirt and pants, even though I know perfectly well there's nothing on them.

"Yeah, that's easy for _you_ to say," Ike whines, placing his elbows on the table. "You eat so much; it's insane."

"Hey, I've gotta' keep my blood sugar steady. I don't want it getting too low - I'll die in the middle of school. Is that what you want?" I ask, taking a big gulp of my water. Before he has a chance to respond, I grab my book bag from the floor and make toward the front door. "Bye," I call over my shoulder.

"Bye, Kyle. Come right home after school!" my mother shouts after me. Every day she says it; does she really expect me to go running off somewhere after school?

"Right!" I reply, throwing open the front door and stepping outside. I pull the door shut behind me and walk down the first few steps. I jump at the sound of a car horn. "What the - "

I jerk my head toward the right. Oh, my God. I lift my hand, rubbing at my temple. No way. What is Stan doing here? He knows perfectly well I'm pissed at him. Well, I'm not _as_ pissed as I was, but I still don't think I'm ready to forgive him yet, much less have him drive me to school.

In an attempt to show him I have no intention of getting into his car, I turn away and start down the sidewalk. I'm taking the long way to school now, but who cares? It's better than having to look at him, knowing that he...ugh. I don't even want to think about it. And to think I almost considered forgiving him last night? There's seriously something wrong with my head these days.

I adjust the straps around my shoulders, shivering under the icy breeze that's blowing in my face. Without even thinking about it, I reach into the pocket of my jacket and pull out my hat, pulling it tightly over my head and hair.

The whirring sound of Stan's car has filled my ears. Out of the corner of my eye I see the front of his car closing in on me. I hear him say my name but I ignore it, causally giving him the finger as I continue down the road.

"Kyle, come _on_!" I hear him yell in aggravation. Suddenly, a few steps later, the sound of his engine disappears. I guess he gave up and left. Even though he was really pissing me off by following me, I can't deny it - I liked the attention he was giving me.

A faint, barely-there smile crosses my face, then quickly fades at the sound of sneakers on pavement coming from behind me. I toss a glance over my shoulder and see Stan, his car parked at the curb, running toward me, his dark hair bouncing up and down on his head, his arms pumping - a full-out sprint, practically.

"Jesus, Stan," I say, picking up my pace from a gentle strolling to a run. I know it's not going to be a challenge for him to catch me - I'm not in as great of shape as he is and I'm still carrying my goddamn backpack.

The footsteps are right at my heels and then next thing I feel is an arm closing around my stomach, followed by the rest of Stan's body as he tackles me from the side, pushing me down onto a neighbor's lawn. Snow erupts into the air as we collapse on the ground.

"Dude," I gasp, shaking my head to get rid of the snow in my hair, "what the fuck are you doing?" The seat of my jeans are getting soaked, but I can't stand because I know he'll just tackle me down again.

He shifts so that he's sitting on his knees, staring at me. "Well, how else was I gonna' get you to talk to me again? Trying to pick you up and take you to school didn't exactly work." He grins, but it quickly fades when he sees that I'm not smiling.

"Yeah, great idea," I say sarcastically, wiping off the tops of my sneakers. I think my socks are already soaked. "Now I'm _really_ mad at you _and_ I'm fucking freezing. Good plan." I roll my eyes and adjust my hands, ready to push myself up, but he scrambles forward, leaping onto me before I can stand up.

I fall back into the snow, Stan pinning me down to the ground. I groan in annoyance. "Come on, Stan. I have to get to school. And so do you, so...let's just quick this shit, all right?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. Flurries that had been trapped in his hair fall out and flutter down, landing on my face. "Not until we work this out." His left leg is in between both of my legs. If I wasn't practically buried in snow and really pissed off, this would be one great moment. "I need you to forgive me," he adds, giving me a pleading look.

"Why?" I ask, staring into his piercing blue eyes. I've always loved his eyes - they were the perfect shade of blue that once you looked at them, you always had trouble looking away; they're just _that_ beautiful.

"Because..." He sighs, pauses, then shakes his head slowly. "Because I'm so, _so_ sorry. And because I feel so bad knowing that you're mad at me and...and because I _need_ you to." His eyes soften, gazing down at me.

I give him a thoughtful look. In all honesty, I don't know what to do. I want to forgive him, but he just doesn't have the willpower for me to be able to trust him when he's with Wendy. "Well..." I pause, chewing on the inside of my lip. "...I want to."

His hands, which had just been pinning down my arms, loosen their grip slightly. "Will you?" he asks with a childlike innocence; one that I can't help but fall in love with.

I sigh, gazing up at him. All I can think about is everything he's done to try and get me back, but I still can't help that image of him and Wendy together from crawling into my mind. But I can't let that stop me from having him. Because it's not like he_ liked_ it or _wanted_ to do it. So, I guess, after all he's done _for_ me, rather than _to_ me, I deserve to give him this one last chance.

"Yeah. I will," I say finally and, before I know it, a grin has spread across both of our faces, and we both instantly forget about being in the cold, wet snow. He reaches down and hugs me tightly, burying his face in my shoulder.

He pulls back after a moment, as though suddenly realizing that we're outside, in the public's ever-watching eye. He climbs off of me and stands. Grinning down at me, he reaches out his hand for me to take. I grasp it and he pulls me up. "Thanks, Kyle," he says as we walk back to his car.

"Yeah, I'm truly a saint," I remark, smiling. "Oh, hold on." I run back to the spot where we fell and pick up my backpack. I glance at the yard where he tackled me and fight off a smile at the sight of the only snowless spot in the entire yard. "Think it's obvious?" I ask, jerking my head toward the spot.

He chuckles. "Not really. Just because it's the only part of the neighborhood except for the streets that doesn't have snow on it? Nah, not really." He opens the door and climbs into his car. I walk around and climb into the passenger seat, tossing my wet backpack onto the floor in the back.

"Are your parents gonna' be mad that the seating of your car is wet?" I ask, looking down at my waterlogged jeans.

"Ehh, probably not. It's just water and it's not like the seats are leather or anything. As long as I tell them that it was you I picked up, they probably won't care. They think you're great." He laughs, as though it's a joke.

"What, and you don't?" I ask, sticking out my bottom lip and giving him a hurt look.

He glances at me and groans. "Oh, don't do that. That makes you look really pathetic. Besides, of course I think you're great. I just fucking tackled you into the snow - what do _you_ think I think of you?"

I shrug and that ends the conversation, but I can't help but wonder what he really _does_ think of me. I mean, sometimes I almost think he's ashamed of me. Well, not me, per se, but the overall idea of being with me - I don't know how he feels about _that_.

I sigh to myself, wondering if there will ever be a time where he'll admit to someone that he and I are a couple. I smile softly. Me and Stan - boyfriends. For some reason, it sounds almost natural. Like maybe it's really supposed to be that way.

And who's to say that Stan can't see it that way, too?

_To Be Continued..._


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Oh my God, I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever! I've been so busy and writer's block just sucks! And it's not just _this_ story; it's _all_ my stories. Anyway, here it is. Chapter Nine.

And thanks to the reviewers of Chapter Eight: Fletset, MooseyDoom777, "BrownAnime," Lilchicky004, "Spice Of Life," Out Of Tune, Faery Goddyss, Omusubi, Selphiebunny, Sango-Kadie, nonoka, "adada," and "J.M.G." Thank you so much! I love you for sticking with me even in spite of my lack of updates.

And a big thanks to DracoSex (my personal muse) for helping me SO much! I love you!

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Our lives are not determined  
by what happens to us but  
by how we react to what happens,  
not by what life brings to us, but by  
the attitude we bring to life. A  
positive attitude causes a chain  
reaction of positive thoughts, events,  
and outcomes. It is a catalyst, a spark  
that creates extraordinary results.  
-Anonymous

The earth swarms with people  
who are not worth talking to.  
-Voltaire

It's going down where no one  
can see. It's a sad, sad sight  
The feeling just gets stronger  
I see you, I just put on a smile  
I try to cover it up, but I  
can't take it too much longer.**  
**-Suicidal Tendencies "It's Going Down"

The light in this place is so bad  
Makin' me sick in the head  
All the laughter is just makin' me sad  
The stars have turned cherry red.  
-Bob Dylan "Standing in the Doorway"

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

"Look at this," Stan says, plopping down in the seat beside mine and waving a packet of paper maniacally in front of my face. "I mean, just _look_ at this." I squint my eyes, trying to figure out what he's showing me.

"I'm trying to," I say, grabbing his arm to stop the waving. Finally, words are formed on the paper, morphing out of their formally formless shape. It's the math test he took two days ago (two days after our study session on Sunday). In a bright red circle at the top of the page is the number "88".

An 88? Stan passed, and with a B plus, no less. I grin at him. "Dude, that's awesome!" I take the paper from him, looking over the mistakes. By the looks of it, the mistakes are minor - probably memory lapses from nervousness. "If you want, I'll look over this and see if there's any way to get you extra - "

My words are cut off as he leans forward and gives me a quick hug. It's nothing affectionate - a swift, straight-guy hug, like when a team wins a sporting game. Even so, I can't help but feel both happy and amazed.

As soon as he pulls away, he runs a hand through his hair, his face beaming in pride. "I just can't believe I did so well on that thing...I don't want to admit it, but that's the best grade I've had in math since...God, since I can remember. Thanks so much, Kyle, for helping me. I couldn't have done it without - "

"Stan!" Wendy appears from nowhere, her hand on the back of Stan's neck, rubbing it ever-so-gently. "Is that your math test? How'd you do?" Grinning, Stan takes the test from me and shows her the grade. Her face brightens and she reaches down to hug him. "Oh, I'm so proud of you! That's so great!" She sits down next to Stan on the same chair as him; he shifts over to allow her to sit down.

"Yeah, but I couldn't have done it without Kyle," he says, looking over at me, his voice grateful, his eyes shimmering at me with a soft desire. "He and I were at my house for hours on Sunday studying for that test."

I smile at him, but I'm suddenly unsettled by the silence that's opened up around the three of us. I turn my gaze to Wendy; a confused look has covered her face and she turns to look at Stan. "But...but you said that you and Kyle only spent about an hour studying. That's what you told me on the phone that night."

I inwardly heave at the thought of Stan calling Wendy after his and my intense make out session. But I shake it off, looking over at Stan, who looks trapped. "Well, yeah, we studied for about an hour all together..."

"What were you doing the rest of the time?" she asks. She doesn't sound accusing, thank God; just mildly curious. Then again, she's always been a good actress. Who knows what the hell she's _really_ thinking?

"...just, you know, hanging out. Guy stuff." He pauses, turning his neck in an attempt to look at Wendy. She doesn't look satisfied, but when she opens her mouth, Stan cuts her off, saying, "You know what, Wendy? I don't have to tell you every goddamn thing I do with my friends, all right? Kyle and I barely see each other anymore, so we like to use up the time we _do_ have as best we can! Is that okay with you?"

I freeze, stunned at Stan's outburst. Obviously, so is Wendy. She's not really the "crying because her boyfriend yelled at her" type, so we won't have to worry about _that_, but she still looks hurt. After all, Stan really bit her head off there.

"Well, I'm sorry that you're so preoccupied with your _girlfriend_, Stanley! And I wasn't prying in your life; I was just asking! I could really give a shit what you and Kyle do -" I wince, instantly hoping she doesn't notice. "- but don't blame _me_ that you don't see each other. Maybe, God forbid, it's _your_ fault that you never hang out; did you ever think of that?"

He pauses, wetting his lips. He gives me one last glance before hanging his head. "I'm sorry," he says and I want to just leave right then. "You're right; it's not your fault. I'm just...stressed. I'm sorry."

Even in spite of his crappy apology, Wendy smiles softly. "It's okay; I understand. But you can't just do that anytime you want, Stan; just yell at me like that. I'm your girlfriend, not your..." She pauses, thinking over her wording. "Just don't, okay?" Stan nods like the perfect plaything he is and Wendy looks satisfied. "Come on, Stan. Let's do our English together." She stands and, taking his hand, drags him across the room to another table.

As Stan sits down, he shoots me an apologetic look. I shrug. _What can you do?_ I ask myself. I sigh, looking down at my homework that's sitting on my table. Across the room, I hear Wendy giggle. _Shut the hell up,_ I want to say.

I can't believe that she just swooped in here and stole Stan from me. I mean, for all she knew, he and I were talking about something important or...or doing schoolwork, or something. And he just takes it; he follows her orders and even _apologizes_ when he doesn't have to. He was right, wasn't he? Wendy has no reason to be snooping around in his life whenever she wants. If Stan and I were dating...

Okay, I would definitely be doing the same thing. But at least he'd actually love _me_. I stop, taking a breath. I try to tell myself to calm down, that I'm behaving like a whiny, complaining little kid, but I can't help how I feel. And it's not like I can change just like that.

Whoa, how long have I been just _staring_ at him? He's not looking back at me, luckily...but out of the corner of my eye, I can see Wendy's eyes upon me. I quickly look down, praying that she hadn't been watching the entire time, that she hadn't been watching me acting like some jealous, love-struck teenager. Because if she had been, she'll probably figure something out. She's bright, and she can really read people. I hate that about her.

"Kyle." I jerk my head up at the sound of my name. The abruptness of the word actually causes me to jump slightly and send my heart up into my throat. It's Mr. Goldman, my science teacher. He's frowning and he looks pretty pissed off. Shit, what'd I do? "You didn't turn in your homework today."

"What?" No fucking way. I always turn in my homework. I'm usually the start of the pile, actually. And damn proud of it. So there's no way. "Are you sure?" I ask, knowing instantly it's a stupid question. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't sure. "I mean...hold on." I reach down and grab my backpack, hoisting it onto the table. I pull out my science folder--the black folder--and flip it open to the homework section.

And there it is. Yesterday's date is printed across the top-right corner of the page, along with my name. How did I manage to space so badly that I would forget to turn in my homework - oh, right. The Stan/Wendy/Me triangle. All day has been a wild debate over whether I should've forgiven Stan this morning. But still...

"I'm really sorry. I guess I spaced." I shake my head in silent disbelief as I pull the homework page out of my binder. "Will you still accept it?"

He nods gravely, taking the page from my hand. "Of course, Kyle. But just don't go around telling everyone. They'll think I'm playing favorites." He gives me a quick, irritated smile then turns to leave the room, my homework in hand.

I can't believe I lost myself like that. I'm usually so grounded and attentive when it comes to school. I let my gaze slip back to the table across the room from me, back toward Stan. I sigh. I guess some things are just more important to me, sometimes. A lot of the time.

Okay, all of the time.

* * *

"Hey, sorry about that in there," Stan tells me as I put the books I no longer need back into my locker. "Wendy was just so happy for me, and I didn't know what to say." 

God, how many times have I heard him say that? "It's fine," I lie, slamming the locker shut. I take a step, pause, then turn back to him. "You know what? It's not, actually. I hated that. It hurt...a lot." I fake a chuckle, mainly to loosen the tension I feel. "But I understand. It's important to you." I say these words with a slight hint of sarcasm and roll my eyes. "Never mind me. I'll just - I'll just drag you down. People will hate you."

"Dude, stop saying that. I'm going to tell people. Someday. I don't know when. But I'm not ashamed of you, if that's what you think. You're pretty hot, you know." He grins and I can't help but laugh. "Seriously, I'm not. Soon, I will." He smiles at me, but this time I don't smile back.

"I want to believe you, but you make it so goddamn hard that I really don't know if I should or not. You should've heard yourself in there with her. She was saying, 'Jump,' and not only were you saying, 'How high?', you were also saying, 'And can I please come over to your house so that we can fuck again, because I just _love you_ so much!'"

He grimaces, then nods. "I know. I didn't even sound like myself in there. She does that to me. I feel really intimidated by her now, because she's so smart and she has the...ability to figure it all out." I have to agree with him there - mainly because I thought the exact same thing not an hour ago. "And just so you know, I'm not planning on...doing anything with her." He reaches forward and rubs his hand against my forearm. "Seriously."

"Aww, look at you two. South Park's Number One couple expressing their affection toward each other in the hallway of their school. So sweet." God, I'm going to punch out that fat asshole someday. And something tells me that it's going to be the same "someday" that Stan is going to use.

Stan's hand drops away as he turns to face Cartman. "Yeah, well, at least I've got someone. Not like you; the guy who's destined to die alone, surrounded by a bunch of fat cats who only love you 'cause you feed them."

I make no attempt to stifle a laugh at that image. This causes Cartman to spin around to face me, fury in his eyes. "Better I die alone than as a fag," he growls. His words cause my smile to drop away and I seriously consider beating the shit out of him.

"You know, you should really learn to shut the hell up, Eric," Kenny says, coming up behind Cartman, scratching at his beach-blond hair. "You're gonna' get really fucked up one day if you keep talking like that."

For some reason, Kenny's always been the one to really be able to get through to Cartman. Maybe it's because he's the only one to really consider Cartman his friend. I'll never truly understand it. At any rate, Cartman backs off, still looking pissed off at the fat comments - you'd think that, after over a decade of the jokes, he'd grow used to them.

Kenny gives me and Stan a big grin before walking past us down the hall. "I'll never understand that kid," Stan says after Kenny is out of sight.

"Neither will I," I agree, shaking my head. "Not that I don't 'like' him; I just don't know what to make of him."

Stan and Cartman nod in agreement and I catch a glimpse of the clock that is on the wall, above the lockers. "Oh, shit, I've gotta' get home. I'll see you guys later."

I hear Stan return my goodbye, followed by a grunt from Cartman. I ignore Cartman's response (as I generally do) and walk down the hallway, following the path that Kenny had taken. As I round the corner, I feel someone grab me by the arm. "Jesus," Kenny says after I've completely stopped, "Eric just doesn't know when to keep the fuck quiet." He pauses, looking down the way we've come. "Where're you going?"

"Home," I reply, making it sound obvious.

"Can I walk with you? I'm not in the mood to go home just yet." I can believe that. Kenny doesn't exactly have the best home life in South Park. Actually, he has the worst home life in South Park, hands down.

"Sure, but I've gotta' leave right now, so..." I trail off, beginning to walk again. He runs to catch up with me and, side by side, we walk out of the school and down the street.

"So, you seemed pretty offended by Cartman's comment," I say, suddenly feeling the need to make conversation; the awkward silence was beginning to get to me.

"Well, yeah. Who wouldn't be? Besides, you seemed like you were ready to fuck him up a little bit before I came in." He doesn't look over at me, but rather keeps staring ahead of him, at the street before us.

"Yeah, I probably would've if you hadn't come. Like you said, who _wouldn't_ have been offended?" I wet my lips, turning my head back to the front, looking at the upcoming houses. After a moment I feel his eyes upon me, looking me over.

"I see the hickey's gone away," he says and a pair of cold fingers touch my neck. I wince, jerking away from the touch. He laughs softly but pulls his hand away. "You still haven't told me who gave it to you." I look over at him. His blue eyes are twinkling eerily and I swallow.

"I...I don't know," I say finally, knowing it's a sucky response.

A tight smile creeps onto his face and a quizzical look crosses his face. "So, I bet Stan's a great kisser, don't you?"

I feel my mouth drop open but I can't do anything about it. I stop in my tracks before I realize it, still staring at Kenny in disbelief. He looks back at me, that smile still upon his lips. "Please. You didn't think that _I_ would figure it out? You obviously don't know me very well, Kyle." He pauses, looking me up and down. "You two haven't fucked yet, have you?"

"No!" I snap, finding my voice. "We haven't...had sex yet." I can't believe I'm talking to someone about being with Stan. At least it's Kenny and not someone I don't consider to be my friend.

"But something happened." He grabs me by the arm, stopping me. "Tell me." His eyes are twinkling madly with desire.

"Well, we've been 'together' for about...a few weeks, I guess. We've basically just kissed, though, and..." My voice drops away. I really don't want to talk about what we've done; I'll just stick with the fact that it really happened. That's enough for me.

"He got a feel?" Kenny asks and, not wanting to deny it, I nod. He laughs, as though it's a joke. "Holy shit, this is better than Christmas or any holiday. Because _this_ has to do with you and -"

"Dude, shut up. Stan doesn't want anyone finding out." I glance around nervously, readjusting the straps on my backpack. "God, I think Stan's rubbing off on me -" At that, Kenny bursts into laughter. I groan in annoyance. "No, he's making me nervous."

"I'll bet he is. But he shouldn't be so paranoid about that. He's popular; most of the guys wouldn't really give a shit. And the girls would think it's hot to see you two making out at the lockers."

"Yeah, I highly doubt that Wendy would think that me making out with her boyfriend is hot," I reply sarcastically. "But it's not me, okay. I don't care, but Stan thinks that if he comes out now, the coach'll kick him off the football team."

"Who gives a fuck?" Kenny asks, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. We're walking again and he slows his pace down so that he can light his cigarette. "It's not a big deal," he says, letting out a puff of smoke.

"It is to Stan. He thinks football is his only ticket into college. But he's smarter than he thinks he is. And since I've started tutoring him, his grades have -"

"Wait, wait. Is that what you two do when you're studying? Make out and rub each other down?" Kenny looks like he's about to orgasm just by talking about it. And I wish he would wipe that smile off his face; it's making me uncomfortable, because I know he's picturing it.

"Kenny, look, you've gotta' promise that you won't tell anyone, okay? Let Stan do it, when he's ready, will you?" I plead, trying to give him a desperate look. "If you do, I promise to fill you in on anything Stan and I do." Yeah, like that'll happen.

"Done," Kenny says, taking another long drag. "I promise not to tell anyone. But you'd better stay true to your side, Kyle. I'm keeping you to it," he says with a grin. I smile back at him and he adds, "Give me something now."

I roll my eyes and sigh. "Well..." I pause. _Well, I did promise him._ "Sometimes Stan and I go to the bathrooms during study hall to make out," I blurt out, surprised by how pathetic it sounds to my own ears.

"Seriously? That's hot," Kenny says, smiling in satisfaction. "And it's so out of character for little perfectionist Kyle Broflovski." He pauses, and I can tell he's thinking of something perverted to add. "Who's on top?"

I moan in irritation, pushing him on the shoulder. He stumbles a few paces, then returns to his place next to me as we walk down the sidewalk to my house. "I'll see you tomorrow!" I shout after him as I walk up the walkway to my front door.

"Okay, see you! And tell Stan I said, 'Nice choice!'" he shouts back and I roll my eyes at him, but I can't help but laugh. I continue inside, feeling an odd sensation in my stomach. I guess that's what coming out feels like. It makes you feel like you don't have to hide or be afraid of who you are anymore.

I could grow used to this feeling.

* * *

"What's up?" Stan says, plopping down beside me. I have a good feeling about today; this study hall it's just me and Stan - Wendy's off taking a retake for some test she missed or something like that. But the day would've been a lot better if Kenny hadn't kept winking at me every time he saw me in the halls. And he practically burst out laughing when he passed by when Stan and I were at my locker, talking. I swear to God, I'm going to have to kill that kid. 

"Not much," I reply, looking at him for a moment before returning my gaze to my homework. I have no intention of doing any of it; I just want him to invite _me_ to the bathroom. It makes me feel like he needs me.

"So, Wendy's taking a test, and..." He pauses, hoping I understand. "...you wanna' go?" he adds after a long, extended silence.

I look over at him, as though thinking it over. The sight of his waiting, almost worried face causes me to break into a smile and I nod. "Yeah," I say, standing. "Let's go." He stands as well and we walk over to the sign-out sheet. I scribble down both of our names and continue out the door, Stan in tow. If I had been trying to play it cool earlier, it's completely worn off now.

I push open the door to the restroom and, after a quick check to make sure the restroom is clear, Stan and I continue to the back, into "our" stall. "Excited?" Stan asks, grinning. "Not like before, when you were scared about getting caught."

I scoff. "Look who's talking about getting caught," I say playfully and he shrugs. Before I realize it, our mouths are wrapped around each other and my back is being pressed up against the wall. He moves his body closer and I lift my arms to wrap them around his neck...

_BANG!_

He pulls away, looking at me. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, rubbing at my arm. It had smacked against the paper towel dispenser and now a painful tingling sensation had consumed it. I shrug it off, leaning in and continuing our kiss, my arms now wrapped around his neck so that I'm lifted slightly off of the ground, leaving me on my tiptoes.

_Hmm._ We both pull away in unison at the new sound. Out of the corner of my eye I see that the door to the stall has been opened. Stan's noticed it as well and his arms slip away from me, letting me slide back down to the floor. In the doorway, clad in jeans and an orange hoodie, stands Kenny.

"Kenny?" Stan gasps, pulling away from me completely, a look of pure horror across his face.

"Wow. I've said it before, but now that I've really seen it...God, was I right. You two making out is _really_ hot." He grins at us and I shoot him an angry look. I can't believe that he would really skip class just to come here. My mistake, ever telling him in the first place.

"Kenny, holy shit, you've gotta'...you can't..." Stan sputters, trying to form a sentence. I think he's on the verge of having either a heart attack or a mental breakdown.

Kenny waves his hand, dismissing it. "Don't worry; I won't say a word. I _promise_," he adds, looking over at me and winking. "Not that anyone would believe me anyway. Well, I've gotta' get back to class. I'll see you two later," he says, smiling. He turns and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me and a petrified Stan alone in the room.

"Oh my God," he gasps. "I can't believe that...that he just...just found out. Do you think he really won't tell anyone? I mean, he won't, will he?"

I shake my head. "No, he won't. After all, besides us, who does he talk to? A couple of hookers or some girls he sleeps with? None of _them_ care about us. Or know us."

"I guess." He shifts in place, looking like he's calmed down a bit. "But are you -"

"Stan, I'm sure. He'll keep it quiet." I lean against him and wrap my arm around his waist. "Okay?"

"...okay, I believe you," he says, returning my gesture by draping his arm across my shoulders. "But I still can't believe that he just...walked in on that and...and _watched_." Stan stifles a laugh, rubbing at his temple. "Shit, that's fucking insane."

"But what would you expect?" I ask, grinning. "But he didn't ruin it, did he?"

"No," Stan replies, reaching forward with his opposite hand and closing the stall door. "Sure, I'm freaked out that he'll let it slip out, but I guess the chances of that aren't very good." He smiles, turning me to face him and collecting my face in his hands.

With a renewed passion, he continues the kiss that had been interrupted. I stagger backward against the wall once again, kissing him back.

_BANG!_ My arm slams against the paper towel dispenser again. That ends the kiss and we chuckle nervously, his head pressed against mine. "I think that's a sign," he whispers and I nod. "Let's get back before the teachers freak out on us."

"Okay," I reply, exiting the stall and we walk, side by side, as Kenny and I did yesterday on the way home, out of the restroom and back down the hall to our study hall.

As Stan signs us back into study hall, I sit back down at the table, waiting for Stan to come back. Once he sits, I look over at him and we each break into a small smile. And then dissolve into laughter. Neither of us can help it; what just happened...how can we not laugh it off?

After the room shushes us, Stan and I are able to collect ourselves. And in perfect timing: Wendy has just entered the study hall, waving Stan over to talk. "I'll see you," Stan whispers to me before he stands and walks over to Wendy.

I can't tear my eyes away this time. I watch in silence as Stan and Wendy exchange a few words. Wendy laughs and Stan smiles kindly, glancing at me.

I wish that today could be Stan's someday. Or, if not today, then some time soon, because I want my someday to come, too. I want to stop lying, too. I don't think he realizes just how much his choice effects me. But his someday will come. And mine will, too. Someday.

_To Be Continued..._


	11. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Sorry about the long delay. Thank God for summer! Now I have plenty of time to write! I hope you all like this chapter; I enjoyed writing it.

And thanks to Brat Child2, Lifelike, Faery Goddyss, Fletset, MooseyDoom777, Lar-lar, "Spice Of Life," "Kaden," Lilchicky004, I Love GIR and IZ, Out Of Tune, Holy Snappers, Sango-Kadie (twice :-D), "katie," Lilsara723, "BrownAnime," Leela's tears, and chibibatmishu, who reviewed Chapter Nine.

And a BIG thanks to DraconSex, my personal muse. -hugs-

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

A lie would have no  
sense unless the truth  
were felt dangerous.  
-Alfred Adler

The soul that can speak  
with its eyes can also  
kiss with a gaze.

-Anonymous 

I think about your face  
And how I fall into your eyes  
The out moment I trace around  
the one that I call mine  
Time to count more space.  
-Trapt "Echo"

You calm the storms,  
and you give me rest.  
You hold me in your hands,  
you won't let me fall.  
You steal my heart, and  
you take my breath away.  
Would you take me in?  
Take me deeper now?  
-Lifehouse "Everything"

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

"So, how's life with _Señor __Quarterback?"_ Kenny asks as I hand him a quarter for the car racing game in the arcade. Stan and Cartman still have yet to arrive. Until then, it's Kenny's only opportunity to catch up on what's happening with me and Stan. "I need another quarter," he says almost apologetically, holding his hand out again.

I drop another coin into his hand before answering. "It's been okay. Nothing much has happened, though. Since football season's almost over, Stan's been at practice a _lot_. In fact, the only time he has is Saturday and Sunday nights - and we all know what Saturday night is for him."

Kenny nods, dropping the quarters into the slot. The screen flashes, commanding Kenny to press START. He presses it quickly and a cheesy video game tune erupts from the speakers. "Yeah, his so-called girlfriend." He squints his eyes, looking through the race cars he has to choose from. He pauses on a bright red Mustang, glancing over at me. "Think I'll ever be able to get one of those?" he asks, jerking his thumb at the screen.

"Depends. You like having sex with men, too, right?" I hope he doesn't take my sarcastic answer as some sort of invitation.

He smirks, shrugging. He presses START again, selecting the Mustang. "I don't even give a shit if I win. I just wanna' drive this car," he says, more to himself than to me. "So, you only see him on Sundays?" he asks, starting up our conversation again.

"Not really," I say, leaning against the wall, watching as Kenny started fixedly at the screen. "I mean, yeah, I _see_ him, but his parents are always home when I'm tutoring him, so what we're doing really _is_ studying."

"God, so you two haven't done anything in the past two weeks?" Kenny says it like it's the most unbelievable thing he's ever heard.

I reach up and tug in embarrassment at my hair. "Not since you walked in on us in study hall. So, yeah, about two weeks."

"That sucks. Or, in this case, I guess there _isn't_ any sucking going on." He grins, jerking the steering wheel tightly to the left. "Yeah, second place! I might actually win; I'd love to see those hot girls in bikinis give me the trophy."

I laugh to myself, crossing my arms and looking down at the floor. There's gum crushed into the carpet. I make a mental note not to step on it while I'm here. "Well, as soon as football's over, I'll have him almost all to myself."

"Well, I'm happy for you, Kyle," Kenny says. "Shit, I lost." He frowns at the screen, shrugs, then climbs out of the chair, standing in front of me. "You deserve to spend _some_ time with the love of your life, after all. Same goes for Stan."

"I guess. But I don't even know if I _am_ the 'love of Stan's life.' For all I know, he's still madly, deeply in love with Wendy - "

"You're blind," Kenny says, interrupting me. "You, Mr. Broflovski, are fucking _blind_ if you don't see the way he looks at you; especially the times when you're _not_ looking."

"Kenny, if I don't see Stan look at me when I'm _not_ looking, that doesn't make me blind. That makes me, well, normal."

"Fine, make jokes. I can see it. Given, I can see lots of things other people can't see, but, trust me, he's madly, deeply in love with _you_." He pats me on the head. "Now, can I have some more quarters? I've gotta' win this thing." He touches the chair of the racing game.

I sigh, looking over at the door just as Stan enters. "Hey, Stan," I call to him, waving him over.

"What's up?" he says once he reaches us. He looks nervously at Kenny, as though he thinks Kenny will, at any moment, begin screaming about what he saw two weeks ago in the bathroom.

"Not much," Kenny says, leaning against my shoulder. I feel his hand climb up my back and rest on my neck. "I'm just - " He looks at me with almost-lust. " - talking with Kyle here." He leans toward me as though ready to plant one on me but a hand stops him.

"Whoa," Stan says, pushing Kenny away from me. I sigh in relief. That was way too close for me. Not only would kissing Kenny be completely _wrong_, I don't want to risk getting Mono or herpes, or whatever the fuck's been near his mouth lately. "I think Kyle's fine, Kenny," Stan adds, taking a protective step toward me.

"Prove it," Kenny said, his eyes large and gleaming. It's almost like he expects Stan to take up his dare and finish what Kenny started. Obviously Kenny has no idea how paranoid Stan really is.

Stan looks at Kenny as though Kenny's lost his fucking mind - which he very well could have - then down at me. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he does so, then his face changes to one of a smug seriousness. "Fine."

Did I hear that right? As Stan wraps his arm around my shoulder, I know that I did. Stan stands behind me, both of his arms draped around my shoulders, his wrists crossed in front of me. He presses his body close to me, resting his chin on my head. "He's fine," Stan says again and I can feel him smile.

Kenny holds his hands up in defeat. "It's not exactly what I meant, but not bad." He grins at me. "See?" he asks me. "I told you." He holds his hand out. "The quarters?"

Stan pulls away from me, standing next to me as I pull the quarters out of my pocket. I hand them to Kenny, who thanks me, then slides back into the seat, still grinning at me.

"Hey, wanna' see if they've got any new games?" Stan asks me. It's probably one of the worst attempts to get someone alone I've ever heard, but, after having the first real physical contact we've had in weeks, I'm willing to forgive him.

"Well..." I look over at Kenny, who's eyes are already glued to the screen. "Go," he says, waving us away. "I'll do better if you aren't here anyway."

"All right," I say, turning around and walking away from Kenny, Stan by my side. "So, what new games are we looking at?"

Stan looks around the practically-empty arcade. "You know, for a Saturday afternoon, this place is really empty."

"That's because everyone's got their own PSP or pocket Nintendo, or whatever the fuck they've come up with lately. No one has a real use for an arcade." I look over at the young kids who are surrounding one of the machines. "Except for little kids, I guess."

"Look, I don't know if you've noticed, but I have. We haven't been..." He clears his throat. "...together in a few weeks." Oh, trust me, Stan; I've noticed. I've noticed a _lot_. "And I've missed you. Wendy's really wearing in on me. She keeps whining about how we're not 'close' anymore, and the only way I get through our dates is by thinking about..." He clears his throat again. "...studying with you."

"I don't know what to say. A thank you seems appropriate, I guess." I hope Stan's going in the direction I think he is. _Just say you're going to break up with her,_ I think. _Just say you're breaking up with her, that we're going to start dating -_ really _dating - and that'll make this the best day ever._

"So, when she called last night, to make plans for tonight," Stan continues, "I told her that I had a lot of homework, that I needed you to help me, because you were busy on Sunday." He pauses, and I don't know what the hell he's doing. Why all the lies? Why not just tell Wendy the truth? "Kyle, you and I are going out tonight, okay? We're going on a date." I would've enjoyed hearing those words so much more if he hadn't whispered them.

"Really?" I whisper back, hoping he catches my sarcasm. "A date? Just you and me? Are you sure that you want to do that?"

"Of course I want to. It's all I've been thinking about lately." Okay, so he didn't catch my sarcasm, but I guess it's not such a big deal. He and I are going out. Together. And he really, really wants to. He looks so happy with his plans that I forget all about the lies he told Wendy.

"So, tonight?" I say, smiling. "That's fine. Not like I have any plans." I point my chin at a pair of boat racing games. "Wanna' play?"

He looks over and a grin spreads across his face. "Yeah, as long as you promise not to cry when I kick your ass. I don't want Kenny taking another chance to try and make out with you. Because he's someone who'd actually do it."

I plop down at the game, looking over at Stan as he does the same. "Aww, jealous that Kenny might want me?" I ask teasingly.

He scoffs. "Yeah, Kenny should _be_ so lucky." He slips the coins in and I follow suit. The cheesy music begins and the game starts. I pull ahead almost instantly and remain in first place throughout the entire race. I never even catch a glimpse of Stan's boat.

"Jesus!" he says once I officially win. "How'd you beat me so bad?"

I shrug. The truth is, every time he was off doing something the past few weeks - after I had finished my schoolwork - I had come here to practice. And to divert my mind from him. Thinking about the same thing twenty-four-seven can't be good for anyone.

"So," I begin, turning to look at him, "when's our little liaison begin?"

"Our what?" he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at me.

"Our liaison. You know, our..._romantic meeting_." I say the last two words under my breath to give them an almost mysterious feel.

"Oh." He frowns, as though I had somehow put him down. "And here I thought you were talking dirty to me," he adds with a smile and I feel that he's back to normal, so I smile back.

A groan comes from behind us. "I can't believe you two would do that in public," Cartman says with an over-exaggerated grimace. "People are around and you're staring at each other like you're mind-humping each other."

"Mind-humping, Eric?" Kenny says, appearing next to Cartman. He's smoking - something tells me that he finally got first place and won the trophy in his game. "Is that the same as a mind-blow-job? Which, by the way, you're giving me _right_ now." He throws his head back, closes his eyes, and smiles.

As Stan and I laugh, Kenny takes a passionate step toward Cartman, who looks like he's going to either punch Kenny out or throw up. "Shut the fuck up, Kenny," Cartman whines, pushing Kenny away from him. "Why can't you ever act _normal_?"

"And normal would be what, Eric? I have a feeling I wouldn't be as hot as I am right now if I was 'normal,'" Kenny says, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a thick stream of smoke. I'll never admit it out loud, but Kenny really _is_ one handsome guy. People don't exactly wonder why he gets laid so often.

Cartman groans, shaking his head. "Can we just _play_?" he asks in his usual whiny voice. Stan and I glance at each other, then stand, walking over to the foosball table. It's Cartman and Kenny versus me and Stan, as it usually is. And Stan and I win, as we usually do.

I don't understand why Stan's so concerned about things being different after we come out. Besides losing Eric as a friend (which wouldn't be the worst thing), I think that things would pretty much be the same. And we wouldn't have to lie about what we're doing when we're dating.

A date. I can't believe how unbelievable it sounds. Stan and I are going out on a Saturday night. After what happened the _last_ time we spent a Saturday night together, I can only wonder what's going to happen tonight.

"I've gotta' go, you guys," I announce after another hour. I raise my hand in a half-wave and make toward the exit.

Stan catches me before I leave, whispering in my ear. "I'll pick you up at nine tonight, okay?"

"Nine?" I repeat, thinking I heard him wrong. "Why so late?"

"You'll see," he says with a gleam in his eye. "Trust me; it'll be great."

"I think I trust you plenty," I tell him. He grins, then runs back to Kenny and Cartman, tossing me a quick glance over his shoulder.

I turn, feeling my whole body tingling in anticipation. Nine o'clock tonight? He's got something planned; I can tell. With an overly-happy smile covering my face, I walk out of the arcade, so deep in thought that I forget about the gum on the floor and step directly onto it. But I don't notice. I've got better things on my mind.

* * *

"I'm home!" I call when I open the door. In an instant, Ike is in front of me, babbling about something he saw on TV, how he wants it for his birthday, but Mom said "maybe" instead of "yes," and that he's worried he won't get it. I push past him, into the living room, where my dad is sitting, reading the paper. 

"How are you, son?" he asks me, giving me a quick glance before returning his attention to the current events.

"Okay," I say, plopping down on the couch. "I, uhh...I'm going out with Stan tonight," I tell him, wanting to add _"as a date" _to the end of the sentence.

He lowers the paper, looking at me. "That right? Well, that's good, Kyle. You haven't been seeing much of him, have you?"

"No, not really. At school, yeah, but no where else."

"Well, you have my permission to go. Where are you going?"

I pause. Stan never said where we were going, but I'll have to tell my dad something, or else he won't let me go. "...the movies," I reply. He nods, then asks what time. I freeze again. I think that saying we are going to the movies was a mistake; Stan said he was picking me up at nine. "Nine," I reply and he gives me a look. "It's the...only time the movie we want to see has tickets available," I tell him.

"Hmm." I don't like the sound of that. He either believes me and is considering saying no, or he doesn't believe me, and I'll have no choice but to tell him I was lying and...oh, God, what if he guesses? No, that won't happen. Me and Stan dating - that's the last thing on his mind. "Well, I'll say yes, but only because I trust Stan, and I trust you."

Ouch, Dad. That hurts me. You may think you're complimenting me, but you have no idea how much that's killing me right now. Why do you have to trust me? "Thanks," I say before coughing.

"Just make sure you tell your mother, okay?"

"Okay." I hop up off of the couch. "Where is she?"

"Her bedroom, I believe. Watching TV and resting."

"Okay." I sprint up the stairs, racing to my parents' bedroom. I stop at the closed door, catch my breath, and then knock. "Mom?"

"Kyle? Come in, Booby." I inwardly wince at the nickname, then open the door. "How was the arcade, sweetie?" she asks me, turning the television to mute.

"It was really great. Oh, and I have a question. Umm, Stan asked if I could do something with him tonight. Is it okay if I go?" I chew on my lip, waiting for her to respond.

A look of consideration passes across her face before she replies. "Well, it's fine with me. When are you leaving?"

I smile nervously. "Well, at nine," I say, hoping that she suddenly decides that there's no way I'm going out that late. Because, if she _does_ decide that, my dad's the kind of guy who won't argue, just go along with what she says. Great for her, bad for me.

"Nine? How long do you plan to be out?"

_As long as he wants, Mom,_ I think. "Not sure. I might be going back to his house to spend the night."

"You 'might' be?" she asks and I feel my stomach churn in annoyance. Can't she just let me go and spend time with my sort-of boyfriend? This is exactly why I want to be able to tell people about us.

"Well, he didn't say that we were, but I'm assuming. Listen, I'll ask him when he picks me up, okay?" She purses her lips and I add, "Please, Mom? I haven't spent time with him in forever. And it's not a school night."

She sighs. "All right, Kyle. You've done all your work, right?"

"Of course. It _is_ me, Mom," I say, getting a smile out of her. "And I promise we'll be careful. It's just the movies. No big. Besides, it's _Stan_. You know Stan." Actually, she doesn't. Not at all. But she _thinks_ she knows Stan, which is almost the same.

"Okay, Kyle. It's fine with me. Have you asked your father yet?"

"Yeah, he said it was fine with him, too." I turn and begin to leave. I pause in the doorway, turning back to look at her. "Thanks, Mom."

She smiles at me. "It's fine, honey."

I leave the room, pulling the door shut behind me, then walk swiftly to my bedroom, making a mental note to tell Stan to tell my parents that all we're doing is going to the movies, which, as far as I know, could be exactly what we're doing. I frown. God, that would _really_ disappoint me.

Then again, Stan wouldn't want to go to the movies at nine o'clock, would he? Without thinking about it, I fling open the door to my closet and peer inside. It's a good thing I've got so much time before the date; I bet I'll be spending about three hours deciding what to wear. Wow, sad...

* * *

Stan picked me up at almost exactly nine, much to my parents' delight. They always enjoy promptness. Luckily, Stan went along with my story that we were going straight from the movies to his house. Although my mom promised not to check up on me, she practically forced my cell phone into my hands before we left, in case I, as she put it, got brutally raped or murdered. 

Once we had gotten into the car, Stan told me that we were definitely not going to the movies, nor back to his house, to my relief. Well, who could blame me? Stan's had a history of really letting me down. But I wouldn't have complained; he dropped everything to be with me tonight.

I'm staring out of the window of his car. We've been driving for a while now. Nearly an hour, to be exact. Not that it bothers me much; I love that he's with me. A sign comes into view a few yards ahead of us; I squint my eyes to read it.

"Why are we in North Park?" I ask after reading the sign that had flown by the car not two seconds ago.

"Because it's part of my plan," Stan replies, and I don't know what to make of that. I'll _bet _that it's part of his plan - the part that involves no one he knows finding us. He looks over at me and his smile fades. "Okay, so I don't want to get caught, but it's not _just _that."

"If you say so," I sigh, looking out of the window at the dark sky. It's almost a full moon. So close to being full you almost want to wonder why it's not considered to be a full moon. I crane my neck to look directly up at the sky. I don't see many stars, just one or two, but at least it's not raining or snowing.

My body lurches as Stan parks the car. I had been staring out the window so long I hadn't even realized we had arrived at our destination. I look around the spot, then over at Stan. "Is this a park?"

"Yeah. The North Park Park," he replies, grimacing at the name. "I guess they couldn't come up with anything creative for the name." He flips a switch, unlocking the car doors. "C'mon," he says, climbing out of the car and walking to the trunk.

I stare out at the empty park for a moment. Finally, it sinks in how incredibly romantic this really is. Even if we _did_ have to leave our town completely, something tells me that it's going to be worth it. I open the door and walk back to where Stan is standing. There's a large backpack on the ground and he's slamming the trunk closed.

"What if your car gets towed?" I ask, sounding like a complete moron. But it would be something to explain to my parents.

"It won't," he says, walking to the front of the car and tapping on the windshield. I look at what he's gesturing to - a small sticker that gives the car permission to stay in the North Park Park for tonight. Looks like Stan _really_ had this planned out.

"I guess this place isn't so popular," I say, glancing around.

"Exactly," Stan replies, picking up the backpack. "The guy who sold me the sticker thought I was fucking insane for wanting to camp here. He said it really blows, because there's nothing to do."

"We're going camping?" I ask and he nods, patting the bag on his back. "The tent and stuff's in here," he tells me, then gestures for me to follow.

"Should I get anything?" I ask, glancing at the car before jogging to catch up with him.

"Naw," Stan replies, shaking his head. "Just bring you; that'll be fine." He smiles, giving me a one-armed hug and pulling me close. I'm almost grateful that he does, as it's cooler than I thought it would be. I lean my head against him, holding back a shudder.

"Cold?" he asks me and I nod, feeling like an idiot for not having brought a thicker jacket. He pulls me in front of him, as he did in the arcade this afternoon, and wraps both of his arms around me. Even though it doesn't help much, I still tell him that it does.

Soon we're far enough away so that we don't see the parking lot anymore. In all honesty, I can't see much of anything, mainly because the moon is now partially covered by a cloud. "How's here?" I ask, standing next to a tall pine tree.

"Perfect. But not right underneath it; snow'll probably fall down and crush the tent." I take a giant step away from the tree and he nods. "Okay." He tosses the backpack to the ground. "Just so you know, I have no fucking idea how to set the tent up, so it might not be very good."

I give him a look, unzipping the backpack and pulling out the large piece of fabric, followed by a comforter, two tiny pillows, and a small black bag. "What's that?" I ask, referring to the bag.

"Oh, uhh...a surprise," he says, leaning forward and taking it away from me. "Let's concentrate on the tent, shall we?"

After what had to have been over half-an-hour, we finally get the tent set up and standing strong. I toss all of our belongings inside, standing up and wiping the snow from the seat of my jeans. "Well, that was fun," I say sarcastically as he stands up.

"You know what'd be _more_ fun?" he asks.

"Anything?" I reply and he chuckles, pushing me. I raise an eyebrow at him, shoving him back. He fakes a gasp, then pushes me again. I over-exaggerate his strength and stumble back a few steps. I grin at him. "Is _this _what you meant by 'more fun' - "

The end of my question comes out as a grunt as he play-tackles me to the ground. Soon, we're roughhousing the way we did when we were kids. I guess I never realized how much I really missed it until now. Of course, the reason I like it _now_ is because we're probably going to end up making out.

I stumble to my feet, then act like I'm going to run away, but he grabs me by the leg, pulling me back down to the snow. He crawls on top of me, staring down at me.

The moon disappears behind a cloud and we're enveloped in darkness, but that doesn't stop the kiss from coming. It comes so unexpectedly that I jump slightly, which deepens the kiss before I realize it. My fingers are swimming through his hair as his body presses down tightly on mine. He pulls away, panting.

I strain to see him in the darkness. A hand touches my face and all I can hear is him breathing. After a few minutes of listening to him breathing, I sit up with a yawn. "God, I'm tired," I whisper. Actually, I'm really not, but if he wants more, I want him to tell me.

I hear him yawn - whether it's real or not, I can't tell - and reply, "Yeah, me, too." We crawl back to the tent and climb inside. He fumbles in the darkness to find the zipper. Just then, the clouds uncover the moon, and we are able to see again. "Finally," he says, zipping up the tent.

I lie on the floor of the tent and he lies beside me, pulling up the comforter and covering us. "Don't you have church tomorrow?" I ask, suddenly remembering that the next day is Sunday.

"Mom said it's okay if I miss it, since she knows I haven't seen much of you lately," he replies and we both smile. "I missed you," he adds, his hand finding mine beneath the covers.

"You too," I reply, closing my eyes and turning onto my side. His hand leaves mine and I lie in the silence for a moment. I could've sworn that tonight was going to be "the" night. He had acted like it was going to be, and I could feel that he really wanted to when we were making out, if you know what I mean.

Suddenly, his warm hands wrap about my cold stomach and he presses his body close to mine. I can't tell if he's asleep or not; his breathing sounds regular, but I can't tell. Desperately wanting to see him - to see if he's sleeping - I turn over to face him. His eyes are open and he's looking at me. "I thought you might be asleep," he whispers to me.

"That's what I thought about you," I reply, placing my hands on his chest. Even through his shirt I can feel his heart beating clearly. What little light that is leaking through the fabric of the tent is landing on his face; he's still staring at me and I can't look away either. I scoot closer so that our chests, stomachs, and legs are touching ever-so-slightly, and then I do the same with our lips.

He kisses back, his arms hugging me tightly. Gently, he rolls me onto my back so that he's on top of me. At first I think he's going to be too heavy, but after a few seconds it doesn't matter, because my whole body is numb with anticipation. His arms slip out from under me and position themselves on either side of me. He pushes himself up, breaking our kiss. "Hold on," he breathes and I nod.

He crawls to the other side of the tent and grabs a small black bag. He brings it back to me, places it on the ground, then begins peeling off his shirt. I do the same, but I never stop staring at his torso. All those years of football have really paid off. Feeling suddenly embarrassed by my small, ab-less stomach, I attempt to cover it with my arms.

Stan removes my hands from my stomach, whispering a quick, "Don't." Pants come off quickly and are thrown into the corner of the tent, along with our tee shirts. I shiver as a cool breeze breaks through the tent. Stan shudders as well. We bury ourselves underneath the comforter, touching each other's bare skin. How can he be so cold when he feels so warm to me?

In a split second, we're both naked, embracing and kissing and touching. "Wait," he pants. I nod, although I don't know if I can. He reaches over and grabs the small black bag, unzipping it and bring out a small box of condoms and a tube of lubricant. "Where'd you get - " I begin.

"Kenny," he replies, smiling. Of course. In yet another second, he's back on top of me, pressing his lips against mine and all I can feel is pain and pleasure, and then only pleasure. Drops of sweat spring to my hairline and appear on his chest.

All I can do is stare at his face, which is outlined perfectly by the moonlight, and, as I gaze into his eyes, and see the desire and love that is pouring from them, I see, for the first time, how Stan looks at me when I'm not looking.

_To Be Continued..._


	12. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-I know, another LONG wait for this chapter. Sorry about that. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait. If not...hopefully the next chapter will be better. :-)

Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed Chapter Ten: "roxy," Faery Goddyss, Sango-Kadie, Brat Child2, Fletset, Spice of Life, Lilchicky004, Enigmus, Sundown, Gochi Glay Lover, MooseyDoom777, Morehelka, Omusubi, Tweek's Panda, and "J.M.G." -love to all of you-

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

To fear love is to fear life,  
and those who fear life are  
already three parts dead.  
-Bertrand Russell

Behind every argument  
is someone's ignorance.  
-Louis D. Brandeis

You cut me up and  
you make me bleed  
A sad stained heart  
hanging on my sleeve  
I'll still follow you  
I will follow you.  
-Tracy Bonham "Something Beautiful"

There's something I can't see  
There's something different  
in the way you smile  
Behind those eyes you lie  
And there's nothing I can say  
Cause I'm never gonna change your mind  
Behind those eyes you hide.  
-3 Doors Down "Behind Those Eyes"

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

I crack my eyes open slightly, having awoken to an irritating sound that is coming from the corner of the tent - an continuous beeping noise, almost inconspicuous, but still enough to wake me up and keep me up. It sounds like Stan's watch; he just _had_ to buy the type of watch that beeps every goddamn hour.

It's just now that I realize where I am - pressed up against Stan's bare skin, one of his arms draped over my waist, a finger touching the small of my back. All of the memories of the previous night rush back to my mind and I smile.

Without lifting my head, I slide my face toward his, pressing my lips ever-so-gently against his. When I pull back, his eyes are opening and he lets out a small yawn. "What time is it?" he asks me in a groggy voice.

"I don't know," I say, pressing up even closer to him. "I just woke up 'cause your watch went off."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I can't figure out how to shut it off," he says with a sheepish grin. He grunts, stretching. "Last night was...God, it was amazing. You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"I have no idea?" I repeat, smiling. "I think I've got a pretty good idea."

"Oh, right." He slides his other arm underneath my neck and leans in, capturing my lips in yet another kiss. I feel his warm body pressing up even closer to me until there's no way we could possibly be any closer than we are.

With an almost grace, he slides on top of me, somehow managing to keep the kiss intact. When he breaks the kiss to nuzzle himself into the crook of my neck, I manage to whisper, "Thank God you don't have to go to church today, huh?"

"Yeah, I - " He pauses, then remains unmoving. I wait in an uncomfortable silent for him to finish his sentence - he must've got distracted somehow - but instead he pulls back, his eyes wide. "What time is it?" he asks again, as though he hadn't heard me before when I said I had no idea.

"I don't know," I say again. As soon as the words leave my mouth, he reaches over to the corner of the tent, where his watch - now silent - is lying. He looks at the time, squinting to read the numbers in what little light we have in the tent and mumbles, "Oh, shit."

In an instant, he scrambles off of me, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on before I even have a chance to ask him what the hell he's doing. "Stan, what the fuck?" I ask, sitting upright. "I thought you had permission to miss church today."

"Yeah, I do," he says, pulling on his shirt. I stare at him for a moment, in obvious confusion. "Dude," he continues, "if I don't go, Wendy's going to ask my mom where I am and then my mom'll say that you and I went camping and then..." He shakes his head, clutching nervously at the front of his shirt. "We've gotta' go."

"What? Stan, that's ridiculous. Who cares if Wendy knows we went camping?"

"Because I _told_ her that we were studying. Jesus, I'm totally screwed; it's already five o'clock and I don't know if we can make it there in time." He's freaking out so badly it's almost amazing he's not hyperventilating yet.

"Stan, why'd you lie to her? She would've understood if you had said we were going camping," I say, reaching over to grab my clothes.

"Kyle, she's been asking a lot of questions about us lately. Nothing graphic or anything, but I just feel like she's getting suspicious. It's always, 'Stan, what did you and Kyle do last night?' this or 'Stan, what do you and Kyle do together when you're done studying?' that. She's freaking me the fuck out."

"She's really asking that stuff?" I ask, not sure whether to believe it or not; Stan's prone to over-exaggerating when it comes to matters like this.

"Yeah! Not word-for-word, but it's along the same lines. It's enough to make me nervous." He climbs out of the tent, leaving me inside, finishing getting dressed. As soon as I exit the tent, Stan practically leaps on it, tearing it down and smashing it back into the bag. "Good enough," he mutters, even though it looks like the bag will pop open at any second.

"Make sure you wash that," I say half-jokingly, gesturing to the tent. It's probably the wrong time for humor, but I'm also being half-serious. He nods, picking up the bag and the rest of his belongings.

"Let's go," he says breathlessly, turning on his heel and running back in the direction of the parking lot. I trail a few steps behind him, listening to him as he whispers to himself, "Oh God, I'm totally screwed, but maybe I can make it before church starts, God, I hope so."

We climb into the car and he tosses the bag into the back seat before starting up the car. As we pull out of the parking lot, I clear my throat and attempt to break the awkward silence that has fallen over the two of us. "...you okay?" I ask, drumming my fingers on the armrest by my seat.

"Huh?" he says, jerking his head over to look at me. After a moment, he sighs. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just great. Except if I don't get to church before either my mom or Wendy, I'm completely fucked."

I frown, mentally noting Stan's use of "I" instead of "we." I reach over to him with my left hand and place it on his right thigh. "Dude, don't worry about it. It's not that big a deal - "

"Not that big a deal?" he repeats, causing me to pull my hand back in surprise. He looks at me as though my comment was the most insane thing he has ever heard. "Are you kidding? It's a _huge_ problem, Kyle! I told you, I'm not _ready_ to tell anyone yet! Don't you understand how much the timing of everything means to me?"

"Yeah, of course I do, but what makes you think Wendy would instantly jump to the conclusion that, 'Oh, my boyfriend and his best friend went camping. They _must_ be having sex'? She's not like that. I mean, she's not, is she?"

Stan opens his mouth to reply, then closes it. When he opens it again, he says, "Well, maybe not. But she'll still be curious as to _why_ I lied to her about something like _camping_, for God's sake. Look, I just can't...I just can't risk it, all right? I've gotta' get there before she does."

I glance at the control panel and see that Stan is nearly pushing seventy miles per hour in a fifty-five zone. "Uhh, Stan," I begin gently, "you might wanna' slow it down." He shoots me a look of worry and anger, and I add, "You'll never make it there in time if you get pulled over."

He sighs, then slows the car down to sixty. "Listen, if you want to sleep or something, that's fine. You're probably still tired from last night." I see him crack a small smile; looks like Stan's starting to calm down.

I smile back. Truth is, I really _am_ still wiped out from last night. I probably only got three hours sleep, tops. "Okay, but wake me if you start to drift off," I say before closing my eyes and leaning my head against the cool glass of the car window.

After what seems - and feels - like two minutes, Stan is shaking me awake. I open my eyes and see that we've arrived at my house. "Kyle, wake up. You've gotta' get out now."

"Yeah, morning to you, too," I mumble, rubbing at my eyes. I unbuckle the seat belt and open the car door. Before I climb out, I steal a quick glance around the neighborhood, then lean toward Stan for a quick peck on the lips. He returns the kiss, but he still seems rushed, I notice.

I climb out of the car, then slam the door shut behind me. He gives me a swift wave before tearing off down the street. If his car's clock is correct, he has fifteen minutes before church begins; hopefully either his mother or Wendy hasn't arrived just yet.

Speaking of mother, it's a good thing I told my mom that I was sleeping over at Stan's house instead of just "staying out late," like I had planned to tell her. I'd be completely fucked if I had told her _that_.

As I walk up the walkway to the front door, a smile spreads across my face as the previous night's activities flow into my mind again.

I retrieve the key from beneath the door mat (we really need a better hiding spot for the key) and open the door. Everything is still dark and closed up; my plan may just work. I step inside and gently close the door behind me. I take a step then realize that I'm still holding the key in my hand. Fuck. I reopen the door, bend over to slide the key underneath the mat once again, then stand and turn, prepared to walk up the stairs to my bedroom.

"Kyle, is that you?" I jump slightly at the sudden voice. My mom is standing at the top of the stairs, still in her nightgown and hair rollers.

"Yeah, it's me," I reply once the initial shock of being startled has worn off. My chest still feels a little tight from the start, but it's slowly going away.

"Why are you hope so early, booby?" she asks and I freeze, caught off-guard by the question. Personally, I don't think six forty-five is _that_ early, especially since my mom still thinks that I slept over at Stan's house; he always brings me home at about seven thirty so that he can make it to church.

"Stan had to, you know, get to church," I say, peeling off my jacket. "He still has to get home and get ready," I add. Shit, that's right. Stan's not really going to church looking like he just woke up from…shit, I hope not. But, judging from the way he was hauling ass out of here, I'd say his appearance is the last thing on his mind.

"Oh, right," she says, rubbing at her eyes. Thank God, she just forgot. "I'm going to go and get dressed, since I'm up. Honey, would you mind putting on the coffee for me and your father?"

"Sure, Mom," I reply, heading toward the kitchen. I'm a step away from the kitchen when I hear my mother's voice stopping me. "Oh, and Kyle?" I turn slowly back toward her before she continues: "Next time, would you _please_ call and let us know what time you'll be home. So your father and I don't panic when we hear the door opening."

I sigh inwardly; Stan's anxiety has gotten _me_ all paranoid as well. "Yeah, sure. No problem." She gives me a quick "Thanks," turning and heading back to my parents' bedroom.

I walk into the kitchen and retrieve the coffee from the cabinet above the dishwasher. As I pour the coffee into the coffeemaker, I hear my mother's words echoing in my mind: _"Next time"._

Is there going to even _be_ a "next time," I wonder? Judging from Stan's near panic attack earlier, I would guess not, but who can be sure? He _did_ say that last night was something he'd wanted to do for a while now.

But…he seemed so terrified this morning. Well, next time we won't do it on a Saturday night. Friday night is just fine with me.

It still worries me, though. As great as last night was – and it _was_ great, better than anything I ever imagined – I'm still worried.

I'm worried about Stan; if he got to church on time, if he remembered to clean up a little bit…if he's finished panicking. But mainly I'm worried about why he's _still_ insisting on keeping everything hidden. Why he won't just come out, why he won't break it off with Wendy…

…and why, even after we _finally_, finally slept together...why he won't tell me – _me!_ – how he really feels about me. His denial almost makes me not want a "next time."

Almost.

* * *

Sunday came and went without so much as a phone call from Stan. I was worried when he didn't call to let me know about what happened at church, but the most I can assume is that it all went smoothly, or else he would've called me if anything that he would deem as "bad" had happened. 

"Bye," I announce, finishing my glass of orange juice. "I'm going." I place the glass in the sink, then walk out of the kitchen, grabbing my backpack before heading out the front door. I hear my family reply with a goodbye from each before I open the door.

I pause at the sight of a car parked at the curb - Stan's car. Why is he picking me up? Does Wendy have a ride already? And, if so, why didn't he call me to let me know? I walk down to the street and peer inside the window at him. I pull back slightly when my eyes settle on him; he looks like hell. Not physically bad looking, but the expression on his face lets me know that something is seriously wrong.

I open up the door and climb inside his car, closing the door behind me. "What's wrong?" I say as he puts the car into drive.

"That obvious?" he asks, his voice nothing more than monotonous. "God, it was horrible yesterday, dude. I wish you could've been there to help me out."

"What happened?" I ask, pulling on my seat belt. "Was it Wendy?" He nods. "Did your mom tell her that we went out?"

"No. Not _then_, at least." I furrow my eyebrows at him in confusion and he continues: "I got there before my mom did. God, Wendy caught me right away. She pulled me off to the side and told me that she had called me Saturday night to see how late you and I were planning on 'studying,' and my mom answered, telling her how you and I went camping, how we never planned on studying. She was so mad, dude. She started in on how you and I are spending so much time together and lying about what we're doing, how it's freaking her out...all I could do was apologize."

"So, what happened?" I ask, feeling slightly angry that Stan actually apologized to Wendy for something like that. Not that lying is all right, but he shouldn't crack so easily with her; that's how he ended up sleeping with her, I'd bet.

"She forgave me, but not right away. She said that she didn't mind if you and I spent time together, just that I shouldn't lie about it. I said that the camping thing had been a spur-of-the-moment thing anyway, and she forgave me. I was surprised she did. If it had been me, I wouldn't have forgiven me."

I almost say, _"Me either,"_ and then think better of it. Instead I nod, saying, "Well, it's good it worked out like that." I pause, thinking for a moment. "Was it?" I ask after a few seconds.

"Huh?"

"Was it? The 'camping' thing? _Was_ it a spur-of-the-moment thing?" Obviously it wasn't _completely _improvised, seeing as how he got some "items" from Kenny, but I'm still curious.

"Oh, God, no. It took me forever to think of the when, where, and how of it. And then getting all the stuff from Kenny and making the reservations. Jesus, it took a long time."

"Well, it was worth it, I think," I say, smiling. He smiles back but does not reply. My smile fades away as I turn my head to stare out the window at nothing in particular.

"Look, uhh…" he begins, slowing down the car. "I've gotta'…I've gotta go pick up Wendy. I told her I'd be a little late."

"Oh. So, what do you want _me _to do?" I ask, knowing perfectly well what he wants me to do. And I could just fucking _kill_ him for it. He gives me a desperate look and I sigh. "Want me to walk the rest of the way?"

"No, I don't _want_ you to. I just…after yesterday, it might be awkward if you and Wendy and me are - "

I wave my hand at him, cutting him off. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Whatever, dude. Not like I give a fuck if you drive me to school." He stops the car and I climb out. I slam the door, silently wishing that I could say something to him, wishing I _had_ something to say to him, but I don't.

I walk around to the sidewalk and he speeds off. As soon as he's out of sight, what I wish I could say to him floats into my mind. I stare down at the ground in anger and mutter, "Fuck you."

I kick at a stone sitting loose on the ground. It scatters a few feet then disappears into the snow. "Fuck everything," I mumble, pulling my head upright and continuing down the sidewalk. God, it would be so easy to tell Stan to fuck off if I didn't feel so devoted toward him.

Ugh, those feelings I have for him almost make me sick sometimes.

* * *

As I'm unloading my books into my locker, a voice whispers in my ear, "Hey, Kyle." 

"Not now, Kenny," I respond, but I know he's not going to leave. He knows what happened on Saturday, which means…he wants details. And vivid ones, I'm guessing.

"Yeah, good one," he says, pushing on me so that I'll look at him. "How was Saturday? Do anything – or anyone – good?" He grins, cocking an eyebrow.

"Look, you know what happened. What else do you need to know?" Whoops, wrong question to ask. I'm so not in the mood for this right now.

"Duh, _everything_." He throws a quick glance in each direction before leaning toward me and muttering in my ear, "Stan's on top, isn't he?"

"_Jesus_, Kenny, what the fuck?" I say, shoving him away with my shoulder. Apparently Kenny doesn't get how irritated I am. Not the right time to ask questions about my and Stan's sex life. Especially considering how pissed off I am at Stan right now.

He shrugs. "Sorry, Kyle, you just don't seem like a top to me - "

"I swear to God, Kenny; if you don't fuck off _right now_ I'm going slam you into the locker and rip your goddamn balls off."

He pulls back a bit, looking almost…proud? God, what a screwed-up kid. "Wow, someone's having withdrawal issues. What'd Stan do now? Did you wake up and he was gone?"

I scoff. "No. I slept with _Stan_, not _you_." I sigh, shaking my head. "Sorry Kenny, it's just…Stan is being such a paranoid asshole. Not to mention a fucking _puppet_. He picked me up this morning just to tell me how Wendy found out he lied to her, then threw me out of his car like a piece of trash!"

Kenny shrugs. "Well, he's picking up Wendy, right? Maybe he just doesn't want the three of you together in a closed space. It's really awkward for him, I'd bet. Since he fucked both of you."

"Yeah, that's what he said, but, God, it hurt." I shake my head, slamming my locker shut. "I know you've slept with a lot of people, Kenny. Have any of them said that they loved you?"

"Oh, yeah," he says, nodding. "All the time."

"Have you ever said it back? And, like, meant it?" Whoa, that's a stupid question. I don't even know why I'm bothering.

"Yeah, I've said it, but, no, I've never meant it." He looks at me closely. "You said it to him on Saturday?" I nod. "And he didn't say it back?" I shake my head. "Huh. I thought he would've…were you really bad in bed?"

I moan in irritation, turning away from Kenny. "Hold on," he says, chuckling. "I'm just kidding. He's still freaked out. He's not saying anything until he calms down a lot. Don't freak out about it; it makes you more like Stan."

"Yeah, I don't want _that_," I reply and we share a short laugh. "I've gotta' go," I say, jerking my thumb behind me.

"Gonna' talk to Stan?" Kenny asks and I give him a look of _What else?_ He grins at me, turning and heading in the opposite direction, toward his first period classroom.

I see Stan down at the end of the hallway and I start walking toward him. I don't know what I'm going to say, even what I _want_ to say, but I've gotta' say something to him. He looks at me – right at me, staring back into my eyes – and a look of uneasiness crosses over his face.

That's when I see who's almost attached to his hip – Wendy. Their hands are intertwined as she talks to Bebe about God knows what. He turns away from me, whispering something to Wendy. She nods and they walk into a classroom – Stan's first period, certainly not hers.

I stop in my tracks, frowning. What the hell? Stan's avoiding me? Well, I guess I should have seen _that_ one coming. I turn back around and navigate around a clump of sophomores to get back to my locker. I pull out my first period books and slam my locker shut. No one hears it. No one hears my rage. No one hears my pain.

Alone, with my arms wrapped around the books and folders, I head off to my classroom. Just another student. Just another nobody.

* * *

The final bell rings, ending the day. I stand up from my chair in study hall. My books are spread across the table – I was sitting alone. Bright side, I finished all of my homework. I guess anger makes me work harder. I load all of my books into my backpack; I'll go put all of them back into my locker now. 

Stan is staring at me. I can't read his expression. I stare back at him for a moment, hoping my expression matches his, then I turn and walk out, my heavy backpack yanking at me, trying to pull me down.

I stuff all of my books into my locker, enjoying the feel of an empty backpack. I stare at my full, organized locker. What the hell? I need something to do tonight. I grab my copy of Death of a Salesman, which we won't even be starting until next week in Advanced English, and drop it into my backpack.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stan – who's book bag looks much heavier than mine – heading out of the doors, toward the parking lot. Wendy's no where in sight. Looks like a perfect time to talk to him.

I walk swiftly after him, happy that there's nothing weighing me down. It doesn't take long for me to catch up with him. I grab onto his elbow, causing him to stop. "What?" he says, turning around. "Oh, hey." That uncomfortable expression has returned to his face.

"Stan, what the hell is going on with you today?" I ask. "You've been avoiding me. You actually ate lunch with Wendy and her friends! What the fuck is going on?" I ask again, crossing my arms.

"I don't know what you're - " he begins, his eyes glancing around nervously.

"Yeah, you do," I snap. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Why? Why would you avoid me? I'm your best friend, dude!"

"I know!" he replies, rubbing at his head. "But now I can't even _look _at you without thinking about…you know. Look," he says, giving me a pained look, "I've gotta' go. Wendy's waiting for me; we've got a date tonight."

A date? He's still going to date her? Why would he do that to me, to _her? _"But...but what about...what about what happened on Saturday - "

"It was a _mistake_, okay?" he hisses and suddenly I'm completely hollow. I bite on my tongue and find that I've gone numb. "It was a mistake - my mistake - to do...that. Okay?"

I swallow, shaking my head. "No, it's not okay. You said that you wanted to, that...that you've wanted to for a long time." I continue shaking my head, not understanding. "You said - "

"I didn't mean...I-I don't _know_, Kyle! I don't fucking know!" He runs a hand through his hair in obvious aggravation. "Jesus, why do you have to be like that?"

"Like what?" I narrow my eyes at him. The feeling has returned to my body and now I'm beginning to realize how angry he's making me.

"So..." He trails off, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I don't even know, all right? Maybe you're right, huh? Maybe I _did_ want it to happen. Maybe it _was_ the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me. Maybe you _are_ the most beautiful person I've ever known. And maybe I _do_ - " He snaps his mouth shut, then sighs. "It doesn't matter; it was a _mistake_." His eyes grow soft and he whispers, "I'm sorry."

I frown at him. "You know, you confuse the shit out of me, Stan. You're beating around the fucking bush about this whole thing. Do you even care about me at all?"

"Yes!" he snaps, as though it's supposed to be blatantly obvious to me.

"Then why are you doing all this? To me, to Wendy? Does it make you feel good that two people want to be with you? Is that it? Does it make you feel _wanted _and _special_?"

"No, that's not it. C'mon, Kyle - "

"Or is it that you're in such deep denial about _maybe_ loving me that you feel the need to cling to Wendy, just so people don't assume anything about you? It's bullshit, Stan. I hate it, and I really want to hate you for it. But I can't. Because I love you too goddamn much to hate you. It's sad, isn't it? Wanting to hate someone because they treat you like shit, but you _can't_.

"You have no idea how hard I've tried to hate you, because you deserve it, you know? But every single fucking time I try, all I do is think about you - how happy you can make me, how beautiful you really are - and I fuck it up. I fall in love with you again. Is it worth it? Is it even worth my time to love you?"

I pause, waiting for him to answer. He's avoiding my eyes, looking at something - probably nothing - behind me. I've never seen him look so lost; I probably hurt him bad. But, right now, I could really care less. I meant what I said, and I had every right to say it.

Finally, his eyes move to mine and he stares at me. I'm still waiting, and I know he knows it. He inhales deeply, prepared to say something. "...maybe it's not," he whispers. God, I'm sick and tired of all these _maybes_. "I hope it is, but I don't know." He sighs deeply, looking up at the sky. "God, I hate this. I hate being afraid of being with you. Because I want to; you know that."

"No, I don't know that," I reply curtly. I cross my arms, waiting less-than-patiently for him to continue.

"Well, I do. But it's just...yesterday, when I made it to church and Wendy kept asking me about you and me and what we had been doing...all I was thinking was, 'Oh my God, she's gonna' figure it out. I'm going to say something and she's going to find out!' I don't want her to hate me. I don't want her to love me, either - not _that_ way - but I really don't want her to hate me."

"What makes you think she'd hate you?" I ask, sounding more sympathetic than I feel.

"She just would. I lied to her, first off. I slept with you - I'm sure she wouldn't like that." He pauses, as though waiting for me to laugh. I remain silent, and he continues, "And then, if I told her that I..." He coughs nervously. "She'd hate me," he finishes. "She just would."

I roll my eyes. "Well, unless you plan on marrying Wendy - which, I can guarantee, would be the end of _us_ - you're going to have to tell her."

"I know!" he practically shouts. His voice drops a notch and he says, again, "I know. And I will; I swear. I don't know when, but I will."

"I thought we were waiting until football season was over," I say in a breathless sigh. "Is that long enough for you, still?"

He stares at me and I wonder if he heard my question. "...we?" he says, softly. "There's still a 'we?'"

I give him an exhausted half-smile, shrugging. "I don't know. I just need to know if you plan on telling her, you know, this year."

He sighs, throwing a glance toward the parking lot. I wonder if Wendy's still waiting there. I'm sure she is; she's a pain in the ass, but she's patient, for the most part. "Yeah," he says. "I will. Like you said, right after football's over."

"Good," I say, smiling. "Because that's next Friday." He frowns suddenly, as though just remembering this. "That long enough for you?"

He gives me an anxious look, then reaches out and gently touches my arm. "Yeah. But you have to, too."

I lean into his touch, nodding. "Of course. I wouldn't let you do it alone. Besides, if we have each other, our parents might be a little more into it."

He smiles, looking over at the parking lot again. "I gotta' go. Wendy's been waiting for a while." I nod, understanding. He tousles my hair, then turns and dashes back toward the rows of cars, instantly disappearing from my view.

I grab my backpack from off the ground and sling it over my back. I walk down the sidewalk, not even looking back to see if, maybe, I'll be able to see Stan through the cars and trucks.

I stare at my feet, watching as they move without me controlling them. There were two moments during that conversation where I was sure Stan was going to say those three words. I wasn't expecting them, off course; but my heart and stomach did leap both of those times. I know it's hard for him, but now at least I have a promise out of him. I finally have his word that he's going to come out. And, even better, we get to do it together.

Maybe - although I now detest that word - everything will work out for the best. Maybe, like I said, if we come out together, our parents will be able to embrace the idea more - knowing that neither of us will be alone or with some guy we don't really know.

Now all I have left to do is wait. And wish, if only to myself, that Stan had taken back what he had said. That he hadn't said that Saturday night was a mistake. Because a mistake can't be so wonderful. And it sure as hell can't be "the most incredible thing" to happen to someone.

_To Be Continued..._


	13. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Wow, only ten days to update? That's pretty good for me. Anyway, tons of thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter: Holy Snappers, Brat Child2, Omusubi, Fletset, "," BlackNeonTears, "Spice Of Life," Faery Goddyss, Michiru Tenou, Lifelike, Phunky Phish, and SandmanZane.

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

In great affairs men show  
themselves as they wish  
to be seen; in small things they  
show themselves as they are.  
-Nicholas Chamfort

To obtain a man's opinion  
of you, make him mad.  
-Oliver Wendell Holmes

And I'll miss your laugh, your smile  
I'll admit I'm wrong if you'd tell me  
I'm so sick of fights, I hate them  
Let's start this again for real.  
-Blink-182 "Always"

When I see her eyes look  
Into my eyes, then I realize that  
She could see inside my head,  
SoI close my eyes, thinking  
thatI could hide, disassociate so  
I don't have to lose my head.  
-Papa Roach "She Loves Me Not"

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

It's Saturday afternoon and I'm busy wolfing down my lunch when the telephone rings. My mom grabs the phone in the kitchen and says, "Hello?" There's a brief pause and she extends the phone out to me. "It's for you, Kyle. It's Stan."

I swallow the last bite of sandwich and stand, nodding. "Thanks," I say, taking the phone from her hand. "What's up?"

"_Not much,"_ he replies. _"Hey, what're you doing tonight?"_

My heart skips a beat. I glance over at my mother, who's now sitting on the couch in the living room, watching TV, most likely tuning me out. "What do I usually do on a Saturday? Nothing. Well, except for last week, I mean." I grin, glad that he can't see the look on my face right now.

"_Yeah, so…what do you say about a movie? Just you and me?"_

"Sure. What're we seeing?" I ask, switching the phone from one ear to the other.

"_War of the Worlds,"_ he replies. _"Everyone says it's awesome, so I guess it's the best choice."_

"Ooh, romantic," I say, somewhat sarcastically. "Well, if it gets too scary, you'll hold me, right? Keep me _safe_?"

"_Dude,"_ he says, sounding anxious_. "Don't do that; what if your mom hears?"_

I scoff. "Yeah, like she'll care. She'll think we're goofing around, like we used to. Don't freak out about it." Ha, like that'll happen.

"_I'll pick you up at six, okay? The movie starts at six fifteen, so we'll be there just in time to catch the previews."_

"Okay, sounds good." I pause, pursing my lips in thought. "Hey Stan?" I ask in uncertain consideration. "What'd you tell Wendy? I mean, this is 'your' night. You didn't…you didn't lie to her again, did you?"

There's a pause. _"No, not this time. I told her that…that you and I were going out tonight and she said it was okay. She also said she was glad I told her this time."_

"Well, so am I. It was pretty goddamn annoying when you lied to her; it almost seemed like you were ashamed of me."

"_No, no way. Don't worry, Kyle. I did…I did it right this time, okay?"_

"Okay. Thanks." I hear him sigh deeply and I hope I didn't offend him or anything. "So, six tonight?" I ask, hoping to change the subject.

"_Yup, six. See you then."_ He's trying to end the conversation, and quickly. Huh, I wonder if my question pissed him off. _"Bye."_

"Bye," I reply, desperately wanting to follow it with "Love you," but I know I can't. I hang up the phone and place it back on the receiver. "Hey, Mom," I say, causing my mother to turn her head toward me. "Stan invited me to the movies tonight at six. That okay?"

"Of course, Kyle. You won't be out late, will you?" Typical mother response. Does she really expect me to say, _"Yeah, I'm gonna stay out _really_ late, do drugs and graffiti and shit, and just…cause chaos"_?

"No, I won't." I wish we were, though. What would you say if I said _that_, Mom? What would you say if I said, _"I wish we _were_ staying out late, because then we could go find somewhere and have sex. Again. Because _God_ it's so great"_? What exactly _would_ you say? "I'll be in my room," I say, turning and walking up the stairs.

I enter my room, instantly going to my closet. I won't deny it – I really want to look good for Stan. After all, since he can look amazing without trying, I should really try and look halfway attractive for, you know, passers-by.

I grab a blue tee shirt out from the closet and lay it on my bed. I pull off the shirt I'm wearing now and toss it onto the floor. As soon as I pull the tee shirt over my head, I hear my door open.

"Hey Kyle." Damn it, Ike, why'd you have to come in _now_. "What're you doing?" he asks with obvious suspicion.

"Just…getting dressed," I say, my voice hitching over the first word. I really need to start locking my door.

"Why? You were already dressed." God, I hate how smart that kid can be sometimes. And how fucking _annoying_.

"Yeah, well…I didn't like that shirt, so I'm changing. I'm allowed to do that; they're _my_ clothes."

He shrugs and it seems to end the debate. "I heard you tell Mom you're going out with Stan tonight," he says and I freeze. I don't like the way he said that.

"Yeah, so?" I say, trying to keep my cool about it.

He shrugs again. "Do you like him?" he asks and this time not only do I freeze, I fall down into a sitting position on my bed. "I mean…it's okay if you do. Like him like _that_, I mean." Jeez, why did Mom and Dad have to give him "the talk"? Why can't he just be blissfully unaware about sex like he used to be?

I stand up and walk across the room, closing the door. "Listen, Ike, you can't tell Mom or Dad, okay?"

His eyes light up. "You _do_?" He seems proud that he was right about my feelings for Stan. But how obvious was I making them if my ten year old brother could see it? Then again, he is pretty mature for his age, considering.

"Yeah, I like Stan. A lot, actually."

"Do you love him?"

Oh my God, Ike, _shut up_. But, not wanting to lie, I nod. "Yeah, I do. But I'm still your brother, okay, Ike?"

"When weren't you?"

"I mean, just because I like Stan – guys – like _that_ doesn't make me different, you know?" I hope it's this easy to come out to my parents. Then again, they're not ten years old. Plus, they _worry_.

"Okay." He seems to understand, even though I'm pretty sure he doesn't. I'm just glad he's not acting like Kenny and asking for details about everything. And I can't even believe how great it feels to tell someone about this. He turns and begins to leave, but I stop him with a question.

"You promise, Ike? No telling Mom and Dad?"

He nods. "I promise. I won't tell." He grins at me in that kid-like way he does and leaves my room, shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone, feeling very nervous, but very relieved.

* * *

Promptly at six, the doorbell sounds. I can hear it barely through my bedroom door. I give my hair one last glance before leaving my room. I finally found, after over half an hour, the perfect shirt; a nice black collared shirt accompanied with dark blue denim jeans. 

I reach the top of the stairs and see that my dad's already let Stan in. They're chatting it up about something – something funny, I suppose, since my father is laughing. I shuffle down the stairs to greet Stan.

"Hey," I say once I reach the bottom floor. "What's up?"

"Not much. Ready to go?" His eyes are looking me up and down discreetly and I see him cock an approving half-smile.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Bye, Dad," I toss over my shoulder as Stan and I walk out of the front door. My dad returns the goodbye, then shuts the front door behind us.

Once we reach Stan's car, Stan grins. "You look great. Really great." It sounds like he had been holding that in the whole time we were inside.

"Heh, thanks. You look…" I pause a moment to look at him. "Well, you're okay, compared to me, but compared to a normal-looking person, you look amazing." I grin sarcastically and he laughs, rolling his eyes.

I climb into his car and he does the same, each of us slamming our door shut at the same moment. "You know," I say as he starts up the car, "when you invited me out tonight, I think I got my hopes up a bit, if you know what I mean." I grin at him suggestively and he chuckles.

"Well, who's to say _nothing_ will happen? After the movie we could drop by my house – my parents are off at some auction or something, I don't know. But the house'll be empty until about eleven thirty or so."

"That right? Well, it's fine with me, but you know I wouldn't mind making out with you inside the theatre." He shoots me an _Are you crazy?_ look and I laugh, letting him know that I was joking. "But I'm all for going to your house later."

He snickers, sounding relieved that I was only joking, and nods. "Okay, great. 'Cause I've been waiting for a good time to for a few days now."

"Oh yeah? Can't get enough of me? Were you stricken down by my good looks?" I ask teasingly, cocking my head at him and giving him my sweetest look.

"Yeah, that's it. That's exactly what it was," he replies. I lean toward him and jokingly nuzzle my forehead against his arm. "Hey," he says, laughing, "stop it." He pushes me away, taking the opportunity to run his fingers through my hair. "I love your hair," he says as he touches it. "Never cut it, or I'll break up with you."

"Yeah, like I would," I say, but the truth is, I've been thinking about it, just for a change, but now, knowing how much Stan likes – loves, possibly? – me the way I am, the more I don't want to change anything about myself. It's a great thing to feel…if he would just let me keep feeling this way all the time, instead of private moments like this.

"Good," he says with a wise-ass smirk. "There's the theatre," he says, looking at the movie theatre that is up on our left.

"Yes, it is," I reply monotonously, nodding for effect. Is this how he acts on dates with Wendy, saying every random thought that pops into his mind? If so, how the hell did they last so long? But that's not something I'm going to ask Stan.

He parks the car in the designated parking spots on the opposite side of the road from the movie theatre. I open the door as soon as the car stops, walking around to the driver's side. "Excited to see the movie, huh?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, sure. Or maybe it's the fact that this is the first time we've dated in public. I mean, sure, we're not _openly_ dating, but it still feels like a real date now."

"Oh, and what did last week feel like?" He raises an eyebrow, then dissolves into chuckles. "Or maybe that's a question Kenny should be asking us."

I nod as we cross the street to the cinema. "That reminds me, did he ask you for any details about Saturday night?" I ask.

He grunts in mock disgust. "Uh huh. He called me on Sunday, can you believe that? He wanted to know all the moves I did and…" Stan shakes his head. "He asked you, too?"

"Yeah, but he asked me more about…positions." I shudder. "Don't worry, I didn't say anything. Let's just let him dream about it."

Stan laughs as we stand in line at the ticket booth. We are chatting when a hand falls on Stan's shoulder. "Stan? What are you doing here?"

Stan and I spin around to be met with the disapproving look of Wendy and, behind her, is Bebe, who is staring at Stan as though he had just committed the biggest sin and was being bound to Hell for all eternity.

"I thought you said that…you needed to study tonight. That's what you told me this afternoon," Wendy says, looking accusing and hurt and confused all at the same time. "Sorry, Kyle," she adds to me and I wave it off. I'm interested. Very interested.

"Yeah, but we decided that we wanted to go to the…the movies, you know, so that we could see…could see _War of the Worlds_. A guys' night out. Right Kyle?" He looks at me pleadingly and I fight off the urge to say, _"Are you fucking kidding me?"_

Suddenly having no interest in going on a date with Stan, much less protecting him, I say, "Actually, you told _me_ that you talked to Wendy and she said it was okay."

"Stan!" Wendy snaps. Stan stares at me, wide eyed. He mouths, _What are you doing?_ I look away from him, at Wendy, who looks just as pissed off as I feel.

"I'm sorry to disturb your 'Guys Night Out', Stan, but we need to talk." She points to the right, at a pillar at the end of the cinema. "In private."

Stan swallows nervously. "Yeah, okay, I'll meet you over there."

Wendy nods. "And _I'll_ meet you inside, okay, Wendy?" Bebe says, returning to her friend's side, a movie ticket in her hand. Wendy whispers something to her and Bebe nods, going into the theatre.

"I'll be over there, Stan," Wendy says, looking at me one last time. "Sorry again," she tells me.

"Hey, it's not your fault. Don't worry about it," I say. She smiles at me kindly, then walks over to the pillar, out of sight of me and Stan.

"Holy shit, dude, what the hell were you doing there?" Stan hisses to me, leaning in as though telling me a secret.

"I was telling your girlfriend the truth, which is obviously something you can't do," I snap back. "Jesus, Stan, why'd you lie to me?"

He stammers a bit before replying. "I just…you seemed so…so worried that I wasn't going to and then you were so happy when I said I did and I just…I just wanted you to be happy."

"Happy? Yeah, I'm _real_ happy now. I mean, _God!_ If you can't even say that you're going to the movies with me _as a friend_, how the _hell_ are you going to do it if it means something more _serious_?" A pause. I frown. "You know what, Stan? I don't think I can look at you right now. In fact, I really, _really_ don't even want to. I can't even tell you how much you fucking hurt me just now! Jesus, Stan...just...fuck you."

I turn away from him, hear him say – not call, I notice – my name once, in an attempt to not sound as upset as he is. My walking becomes faster until I finally reach the sidewalk and I keep on walking, not looking back, and not wanting to.

Once I am out of sight of the theatre, I sit down on the curb of the sidewalk and hold my head in my hands, tugging gently at my hair in anger. "Fuck, I just can't…I can't believe he did that again. Shit," I mutter to myself, shaking my head.

I can't breathe. It feels like a hand has grabbed onto my windpipe and is trying to crush it closed. Tears well up in my eyes, but I wipe them away before they can escape. There's no way I'm going to get caught crying for him. No fucking way.

A car whizzes past me, sending dirt and gravel up into the air, which falls down upon me, dirtying my shirt (_The perfect shirt!_), but I don't make to brush any of it off. Who cares? It doesn't matter; the shirt, like this night, like my _life_, is ruined. And the reasoning behind all three is exactly the same.

I keep walking home in the dim lighting of the setting sun. It's eerie, almost, being on the edge of not being able to see. As I walk past the park, I hear someone following me, their footsteps crushing angrily on the pavement. I turn and am instantly met with a push.

"You son of a bitch," Stan hisses before shoving me on the chest again, sending me back a few steps. "You _asshole_. You ruined _everything._"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snap, shoving him back. "I didn't do a goddamn thing."

Stan takes a breath, looking back in the direction of the movie theatre. He looks back down at me, fury covering his blue eyes. "Wendy…she just…she just broke up with me. Because of _you_."

I scoff. "Who gives a fuck?" I turn to keep walking, but a hand grabs my arm, pulling me back. "Stan, would you just screw off? I'm done, okay? I'm done being hurt by you. It just doesn't feel worth it."

"_No_! No, don't…just…listen. Please?" I roll my eyes, but cross my arms, waiting for him to continue. "I'm…I…I'm just so…" He hangs his head, as though ashamed to say whatever it is he's trying to tell me. "I'm sorry! I fucked up! Again. I keep doing it, but I don't want to! I'm sorry, Kyle! I'm sorry."

He reaches his arms out toward me, trying to beckon me into a hug, but I remain where I am, arms crossed, unmoving, still not pleased with his apology. It just all sounds too familiar. Too horribly familiar.

"Please," he murmurs, sounding like a little kid asking for a snack or a new toy. "Please don't leave. Don't leave me. I need you - "

"Why? Because Wendy left?" I snap at him before I can even think about doing otherwise. "Well, that's just too damn bad, isn't it? Now that Wendy's gone, you just _need_ me? Why couldn't you feel this way before? When I _needed_ you? Huh? Where was _this_ Stan when all I could think about was you? When all I did was think about when we were going to kiss next or when we were going to…" I shake my head. "No. Fuck it. I'm done."

He purses his lips, then narrows his eyes. "Yeah, well, _fine_," he snaps, rubbing at his head. "You wanna end it? That's just fine, I don't give a shit." Something in his eyes says otherwise, though, and he turns his face from me as though to hide his true feelings.

"Fine," I say, looking at him with the utmost fury I can conjure up. "You know what, Stan? Wendy may have left you because she was worried, but I wouldn't have. And now you're going to have to deal with _every-fucking-thing_ on your own. Including your feelings for me, if they even exist. Or were your supposed _feelings_ just another one of your goddamn lies?"

He opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut almost instantly. His eyes are staring at something behind me, but when I glance over my shoulder, there's nothing there. Why is he refusing to look at me? God damn it, this is not the evening I thought it was going to be.

"I'm gonna go. I'll just tell my mom you were too busy with schoolwork or some shit like that to go out tonight. That sound okay with you, Stan?" I cross my arms over my chest, staring at him. My anger has died down a bit, but it's still blaring pretty heavily, nonetheless.

He sighs deeply. "Whatever, Kyle. I obviously don't know what the fuck I'm doing, so it's probably best if _you_ handle it."

I don't know if he's being sarcastic or not, but I'm suddenly pissed off again. "Damn right you don't! If you knew what the fuck you were doing, you think we'd be _having_ this conversation? No, we'd be sitting in the goddamn movie theatre, enjoying our night together. But because you were too _scared_ to ask Wendy's permission to go out with _me_, your best friend, it's all fucked up."

He glares down at the ground, his hands crammed deep within his pockets. His breathing is uneven and raspy. "Well, I guess there's a bright side for you, Stan," I say, feeling a sudden urge to continue. He looks up at me, a small gleam of hope in his eye. "Now you won't have to live with the shame of being with me anymore."

The look of hope quickly changes to one of despair, and then – surprising to me – one of anger. His hands rip out of his pockets and he starts toward me. Out of nothing more than surprise, I take a quick, giant step away from him.

My sneaker catches the edge of the curb and sends me falling backward. I wave my arms in an almost hopeless attempt to stop the falling. I'm just about to regain my balance when I see Stan coming at me again. He throws himself at me, his hands shoving at my chest.

My fall begins again, but this time I see something to grab onto. I'm not going down alone. I reach out and grab onto Stan's arm, yanking him down with me as we fall down to the snowy grass behind us.

Unfortunately, I didn't think my whole plan through and Stan, with all his weight in tow, lands on top of me. I grunt loudly as his body smacks onto mine.

He rolls off of me almost instantly, kneeling beside me as I hold my hands against my stomach, where most of Stan's weight had landed. "Shit, dude, are you okay?"

I wave him off, stumbling as I stand up. "What the fuck did you push me for?" I demand once my breath has caught up with me.

Stan wets his lips, then replies, "You shouldn't have said that…I'm _not_ ashamed of you. I'm not. You're the most important person in my whole fucking life, Kyle. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here with me."

"Yeah, well, you don't show your affection very well," I say with a hint of disdain in my voice. I shake the snow out of my hair, feeling it soaking the back of my neck. I wait in the silence for a few more seconds. "Well, if you're done," I say, turning to leave.

"No, don't," Stan says, reaching out and grabbing my elbow, yanking me back to him. After he pulls me back, our chests are nearly touching, but it doesn't have the same feel it used to, at least not right now. "Please, you said…you said you loved me…"

I scoff. "So what? Maybe…maybe…" I'm struggling to come up with a response. "…maybe I don't anymore, huh?"

He looks hurt for a moment, but his expression quickly sinks into one of suspicion. "So, what, you're telling me that when I do _this _- " With a sly glance around, his hands caress each side of my face, and then he leans in with a passionate kiss, sending a chill throughout my body. " – you don't feel anything?" he finishes, pulling back.

"Okay, fine, I do. I do feel something. I always do. But does it really matter? Huh? After all the shit you put me through, does it really matter if I feel something when you kiss me?"

Stan's face falls, as do his hands. His face settles into a look of pure sorrow and my heart wrenches for him. _Stop that_, I tell my heart. _I don't want that to happen_. "I'm sorry," he says. There is a faraway look in his eyes, and he looks lost. Hopelessly lost.

"I'm sorry," he's whispering under his breath. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He keeps saying those words over and over in a chant-like way, still reaching out toward me. I've never seen him like this before. It's almost terrifying...but the sight makes me feel like he wants, no, _needs_ me. The way I need him.

The sight of him like this really does break me. I sigh, look up at the sky – which is now completely black, with the exception of the moon and a number of stars, and seems even more lit-up because of the street light that is almost right above us – then move forward, embracing Stan with all my strength.

He hugs back, burying his face into my hair, still murmuring those two words over and over. "Hey," I say, cutting him off. "Stop. You're sorry; I got it." He stops his chanting and pulls back, catching his breath. "So, what happened?" I ask, suddenly curious. "With you and Wendy?"

"Oh, God," he says, shaking his head. "She was pissed, Kyle. Worse than you, if you can believe that."

"No, I can't." I let the words slip, but it doesn't seem to faze him at all. Which is lucky; it doesn't look like he could take any more tonight.

"She said that she was 'worried' about us," he continues. "Why we kept doing stuff together and…and refusing to tell what we were doing. And she hated that I kept lying to her, so she…she broke up with me." He breathes in a heaving sigh, locking eyes with the ground. "Shit. I thought…I thought I loved her."

I cock my head, trying to look at Stan's face. "You don't?" I ask quietly, knowing I sound naïve and pathetic, but I want to know from _him_; not what _I_ think he feels about her.

He looks up at me; his eyes are glassy. But maybe it's just the way the light is hitting them.

He shakes his head. "No. I really don't. I don't think I have for a...a while now. It's just...when she broke up with me, all I could think about was you, walking away, hating me...and that's all I cared about. I didn't give a fuck about her ending everything. I almost wanted it."

He breathes in a heaving sigh. "And now it's over between her and me. And I'm happy, because now I know that...that you and I can be together." His voice drops a peg and he looks at me carefully. "But you don't want to?" It's more of a question than a statement, I notice.

I sigh loudly, staring up at him. God, I really want nothing more than to be able to hate him and to just be able to walk away right now and try to push him out of my life, but...shit, I can't. Every time I look at him...I know there's no way I'll hate him. "Of course I want to. I just don't know if _you_ do."

"I want to," he answers instantly, nodding along with his words. "I want to and...but you should know that. You should know how bad I want to be with you and how much I _need_ you and...I really fucked that up. Because I was so scared of people finding out that..." He trails off, shaking his head slightly.

"But it doesn't matter now," he says softly, more to himself than to me. He looks up, gazing at me. He pulls me back into a hug, his lips brushing softly against my ear. "I love you," he whispers, pulling me tighter against him. "I just...love you so goddamn much."

I smile, but it quickly fades when I feel his staggered breathing against me. Is he crying? As soon as I feel the dampness collecting on the shoulder of my shirt, there's no denying it. He's crying. It shocks me, and yet it seems like I knew he would.

"God, I'm such an asshole," he says, sniffing. "You kept saying you loved me and I never...I never said it back. Because I was scared, and...shit, it feels so good to say..."

I smile again, pulling his body closer to mine.

"I understand, okay? I know you were freaked out about it. I'm not going to lie to you, though; it hurt like hell every time you never said it back - " I feel him flinch. " - but you're lucky. You're lucky I know you so well."

He chuckles softly. "I _am_ lucky." He breathes in deeply, then exhales into my hair. "I really love you."

Wow, and to think he refused to say those words before? Now he's saying it with every sentence. Not that it bothers me. "I love you, too," I whisper back.

"And I didn't mean what I said…what I said on Monday. Last Saturday; it wasn't a mistake. It was the best thing to ever happen to me."

"Yeah, me too," I reply with a nod and a smile, glad to hear him apologize for the heart wrenching pain he caused me on Monday.

He smiles, standing upright, his arms still draped around me. Without so much as a glance around the area, I notice, he leans down and presses his lips against mine. He sighs into my mouth as I kiss back tenderly.

He pulls away, looking down at me. "You going home?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Mind if I stay the night? I really don't feel like going home tonight. I don't want to deal with telling my parents that Wendy and I broke up."

"Yeah, sure. My parents won't mind; don't worry. Let's go back to the theatre and get our car." His hands drop away from me and he nods. He doesn't move, however; instead, he leans down and brushes his lips to mine in one quick kiss.

"Oh…my God!" A gasp, and then laughter. What the hell?

_To Be Continued…_


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Oh…my God, I haven't updated in _forever_! I'm so, so sorry! And I'm not even going to lie: I wasn't busy at all, just suffering from writer's block. I think it's broken; who can really be sure? Thanks to everyone who was kind enough to read the first draft of this chapter: Chelsea (Racetrack101), and many people from my LiveJournal. I love you all!

And I have a question for you all: would you like me to continue this story for as many as I possibly can (thus somewhat dragging it out), or do you want me to end it within five to six more chapters? The only reason I ask is because, on my first story (which was 20 chapters), some readers thought that it might've been better, had it been shorter. I'll leave it up to you.

And thanks so, so, so much to all my dedicated readers of Chapter Twelve: SaiyanQueenVega, Michiru Tenou, "Deadkenny," Lifelike, Omusubi, Fletset, total misanthrope, Phunky Phish, Selphiebunny, Sandman Zane, Spice of Life, Out of Tune, "Awkward Silence," Brat Child2, Enigmus, Lilchicky004, Faery Goddyss, "DraconWolf88," Racetrack101, crystalwish, Zubby, BrokenxStars, "BrownAnime," nightie629, dynagurl, Beautiful Willow, reflectivelvet, NickiLan83, and Tadashi. -whew-

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

There is only one way to  
happiness and that is to cease  
worrying about things which are  
beyond the power of our will.  
-Epictetus

Growing up is never easy.  
You hold on to things that were.  
You wonder what's to come.  
-Anonymous

You cut me down to size  
And opened up my eyes  
Made me realize  
What I could not see.  
-Coldplay "Swallowed in the Sea"

I love you more with every breath  
Truly madly deeply do  
I will be strong I will be faithful  
'Cause I'm counting on a new beginning.  
-Savage Garden "Truly Madly Deeply"

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Stan and I jerk our heads in the direction of the new voice. There, not ten feet away from us, stands Cartman, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, a smirk spread across his face, and a look in his eye that I don't like.

"Oh, my God," he says again, shaking his head and stepping toward us. "I knew it. I fucking _knew_ it! Everyone thought I was a freaking nut-job, but I was right! You two are totally gay for each other!"

Stan steps away from me, approaching Cartman with careful steps, as though if he were to make the wrong type of movement, Cartman would scamper away like some frightened rabbit. "Cartman," he says through clenched teeth, "listen. You - "

"And making out in the _street_. Jesus! I thought you were smarter than that, Kyle," he says, looking over at me.

"Shut up, asshole," Stan snaps, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You can't tell anyone. I know it's tough for you to keep your fat mouth shut -" Ugh, Stan, if you want him to listen to you, avoid the insults a little. " - but _please_, Cartman. Just...don't tell."

Cartman scoffs, waving his hand at us. "Who would _I_ tell?" he asks, grinning a toothy smile. As Stan takes another menacing step toward him, his smile fades. "Dude, I'm kidding. Shit, calm down. But you know, people probably already think you two are doing each other, so what does it matter if I say something?"

"Because people _don't_ assume it," I say, speaking for the first time since Cartman arrived. "It's only you and Kenny - and Kenny's a pervert."

Cartman touches his head with the tip of his fingers, rolling his eyes. "Wake up, Jew. Why do you think Wendy broke up with you, Stan?"

"What? How...how'd you know that...Wendy..." Stan sputters, his face turning pale.

Cartman shrugs. "She talked to me a little bit ago. She was pretty upset about the break-up, but she said she'll be fine soon." He pauses, smiling slightly. "But she said that the reason she broke up with you is because she thinks that you and Kyle are having 'relations.'" He makes the quote-unquote gesture with his fingers for the last word.

"Holy shit," Stan gasps, falling back a few steps. "Wendy's a talker, dude. She's going to tell _everyone_. Or, worse, she's going to tell Bebe and _she_ gossips more than anyone else in school. We're screwed. Completely screwed." His eyes fall down to the ground as he chews on his lip.

"Oh, poor Stan, I'm _so_ sorry," Cartman says, smirking at Stan in such a smug way that I can literally feel myself hating him more than I ever thought I could have.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stan move slightly toward Cartman, but, before he can get there, I'm already standing in front of Cartman, my hands tangled deep in the front of his shirt, yanking him forward. "_Don't_ say a fucking word, Cartman," I snap, letting go of his shirt.

He pulls away from me, smoothing out the front of his shirt. "Why not? Because, if I do, _you'll_ kick _my_ ass?" He laughs as though that is the most absurd thing he's ever heard. "That I'd love to see."

"What is your problem, Cartman?" I snap, rubbing at my forehead. "Why do you have to try and ruin our lives every goddamn chance you get?"

"Because, my dear Kyle, I am _just_ that good of a friend." I scoff in disgust. "But really, I'm not gonna' tell anyone," he says and I cock an eyebrow at him. He gave too easily to that. I don't like it.

As though reading my mind, he adds, "It's going to be _way_ too fucking funny watching you two twist in the wind. This is probably the best blackmail I've ever had; you really think I'm gonna' just _waste_ it?"

I glance over at Stan. He looks either petrified or extremely pensive. "You…you won't say anything," he says calmly, but, judging by the way his hands are still shaking, I can tell that his voice is the only thing that is calm about him right now.

"Right." Cartman grins. "But don't forget that I know, okay, Marsh? It won't take much for me to 'accidentally' let it slip out."

"Jesus, Cartman, _blackmail_? Are we in the fucking fifth grade?" I say, rolling my eyes.

"_Dude!_ Shut the hell up! He's not saying anything; who fucking cares what else he's doing?"

"Well, I'm gonna' leave you two alone now. But, God, don't do anymore of that shit in the street anymore; I almost killed myself when I saw it." He grimaces and dry-heaves, and I can almost see Stan trying not to blush.

I fight off the urge to grab Stan and lay a wet one on him, just to see if Cartman really _would_ kill himself – that would be the greatest moment of my goddamn life. "Look, Cartman, why don't you just go out and do whatever the fuck it is you do every weekend, huh?"

"Okay, I guess I will. _bye_ Stan, _bye _Kyle. See you two at _school_ on Monday!" He bats his eyelashes at us, waves overdramatically, then turns, laughing loudly to himself, and walks off down the street.

Once Cartman is out of sight, I turn back to Stan, who is holding onto his stomach with one hand. "Goddamn it," he mutters. "What the fuck just happened?"

"Cartman's got blackmail material on us for the first time in years; _that's_ what just happened. You can tell he's been waiting for a moment like this for a long time," I reply, sighing and shaking my head.

"But…but…he just _agreed_ not to say anything. Why?" Stan crosses his arms over his chest, looking as though he might be sick at any moment.

I shrug. "I don't know, Stan. Maybe he wants me to do his homework or some immature shit like that. I don't know. But he's not gonna' say anything. I mean, if he was going to say something, he would've done it right then. Besides, even if he does, no one's gonna' believe him. Everyone knows he's a fat, shit-eating liar."

"I guess."

Stan still looks unsettled so, after a moment of silence, I say, "You wanna' head to my house?"

"Your parents home?"

"Yeah, but if we go to my room they won't bug us."

"Okay."

We walk in unison, same step falling at the same moment, back to his car. I slip inside the passenger-side, buckling my seat belt before he even gets into the driver's seat. His hands are shaking so badly he can barely even get the seat belt into the buckle.

"You want me to drive?" I offer.

"No. No, I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

I nod, turning my head to face forward. I hear him take a deep breath, and then the engine starts. We pull out into the street and drive in an ear-shattering, uncomfortable silence all the way home.

* * *

"You're _sure _your parents won't bug us?" Stan asks for the hundredth time as we head up the walkway to my front door.

"Stan, for the hundredth time, _I think so_. God," I whisper to myself in annoyance, digging my house key out of my pocket and unlocking the door.

"Your parents lock the door even when they're home?" Stan asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, they don't want some whack-job breaking in and kidnapping Ike and taking him back to Canada, or something like that." I push the door open and step inside. "Lock it after you close it, all right?" Stan nods.

"Mom? Dad?" I call up the stairs. I don't know why I'm assuming they're up there. The only time they're in their bedroom is when they're sleeping.

"Kyle? Is that you?" My mom's reply is coming from the living room. Well, I guess I should've assumed that they were in there. I turn the corner into the living room, where my parents are sitting on the couch, my mom reading a book, my dad, the newspaper.

"Kyle, what are you doing home already? It's only - oh, hello, Stan." My mom's eyes settle on Stan, who has just rounded the corner into the living room. "No movie tonight?" she asks.

I shrug, shaking my head. "No. We talked about it and we decided we're rather hang out here."

"Oh, okay. Well, that's fine. Have you eaten?" God, Mom, what the hell are you doing? Just leave us the hell alone. "Have _you_, Stan?"

"Oh, uhh...no, I'm fine," he replies, shuffling uncomfortably. I can tell he just wants to get upstairs, away from my parents and any potential people that could find out, as quickly as possible. And, in all honesty, I feel the exact same way right about now.

"Okay, we'll be upstairs, watching TV and...whatever," I say before my mom can get another word out. I turn on my heel, away from my parents, and walk swiftly to the stairs, nudging Stan on the shoulder as I pass him.

I hear him say something along the lines of, "Thanks for letting me stay," and then he's climbing up the stairs so quickly that I'm surprised he doesn't trip and fall all the way back down.

Once we're in my room, the door is closed and locked, for probably the first time in my entire life; I've never had the need to lock it before. "Oh my God, dude," Stan sputters out before collapsing onto my bed. I hear him cursing into the fabric of the covers.

I sit down beside him, leaning over to whisper in his ear, "It'll be fine, don't worry," about a hundred times. God, I wish I didn't feel like I was lying to him by saying that.

He lifts his head, a blank expression on his face. He's doing nothing more than look at me. It's making me uncomfortable, but when I open my mouth to voice this, he leans up and presses his lips tightly against mine. It was so spontaneous and needy that I feel goose bumps prickling my skin as he leans closer, his hands moving up around my neck and pulling me down beside him. He shifts his body so that his upper body is lying on top of mine, pressing all of his weight and passion against me.

We break for a moment, just for a quick breath, and then he dives back down upon me, lips pressed passionately against mine, his hands moving from my neck to my shoulders to my hips -

A pattern of knocking. "Kyle?" Stan yanks back and rolls off of me so quickly that he nearly flies right off my bed.

I lick my lips, then sit upright. "Yeah, Mom?" I respond, sounding both irritated and breathless. Stan throws me an annoyed look, and I mouth, "Sorry."

"I have some snacks for you two. Do you want them?"

I sigh loudly, then hop off of my bed, walking over to the door. "Sure." I unlock the door and open it, and then take the tray out of my mom's offering hands. "Thanks," I say, not sounding grateful in the least.

Nevertheless, she smiles and nods. "Have fun, boys. Let me know if you need anything." I reply that we will and she leaves. I place the tray of food on my dresser, then close and relock the door.

"I thought you said that they wouldn't bug us if we were in your room," Stan says, smirking.

I roll my eyes. "She can't help it. It's in her nature to bug the living shit out of me."

Stan grins, then lets the smile slip from his face. He sighs, lying on his back on the bed. "What a fucked up night, huh?" he says, shaking his head.

"I'll say. You got dumped by Wendy, Cartman found out and, more surprisingly, instantly promised not to say anything (which still bothers me, by the way), and you said you love me." I smile softly. "Well, at least there was an upside to the night."

"Yeah, I guess," he says, returning my smile. He closes his eyes, crossing his arms behind his head. I walk back over to the bed and lie down beside him, doing nothing more than soaking in his being there with me. Sounds pathetic, maybe, but it makes me feel pretty damn good.

"So," he says suddenly, his eyes still closed, "Kenny knows, Cartman knows, Wendy _might_ know...Jesus."

"Oh, and…Ike knows," I say, just now remembering that Stan doesn't know about that.

Stan's eyes fly open and he turns on his side, toward me. "What?"

"I didn't tell him. He just…guessed." I can't help but grin at that. "It was so goddamn weird, Stan. He just…knew. But he promised not to say anything. He may be young, but he's smart, don't worry."

"God, he _guessed_? Holy shit, are we _that_ fucking obvious that some kid can tell?" Stan grins along with me, chuckling softly. "Well, it's not a big deal, I guess."

"Wow. Stan Marsh, you are really growing up. If I had told you that Ike knew two, even _one_ week ago, you would've had a fucking heart attack."

"Yeah, well, I have _you_ to thank for that, helping me grow up." He presses up against me, pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is quickly broken when Stan pulls away and yawns. "God," he says once the yawn has ended, "tired _this_ early? In-fucking-credible."

"Wanna just watch TV?" I ask and he nods. I reach over to my bedside table and grab the remote. I press "Power" and the TV flickers on. "What do you wanna watch?" I ask.

"Don't care." Great, neither do I. That'll get us nowhere. I press in a random channel – it ends up being VH1. Something about Gene Simmons's Rock School. Never seen it before. "Ehh, that's fine," he says, shifting around on the bed to get comfortable.

I stare at the TV for about ten minutes, watching it without actually watching it. Then I feel Stan's head roll against the crook of my neck, settling there with no problem whatsoever. He's breathing steadily; he must've fallen asleep already.

I stare at the television for about five more minutes, more interested in Stan's breath on my neck than anything being shown or advertised on TV.

I want to shift slightly – this position, head propped up on three pillows, is starting to get uncomfortable – but I don't want to wake up Stan. I wait another minute or two, then decide that Stan will just have to deal with being woken up; I shift slightly, pushing one of the three pillows to the floor.

I lay back down, sighing in relief. Suddenly, I'm aware that Stan's lips are pressed feverishly against my neck, sucking ever so gently. "Thought you were asleep," he says softly.

"Not yet," I say. I close my eyes. I must be really tired, too; my eyes burn the instant they are closed. "I might be in a minute, though," I mutter, opening my eyes slightly to look at him.

"Yeah, all right," he says, sounding disappointed. He shifts his head away from me, placing it on his pillow. "Well," he says, yawning, "I guess I will be, too, so it's not a big deal we can't do anything tonight."

His eyes close again but I can't bring myself to close mine. After a moment's wondering of, "Should I?" I slide over to him, pressing myself up close. Responding almost instantly, he extends his arms, pulling me into him. Finally, I am able to close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of his being there.

As soon as I feel myself hanging on the balance between being awake and asleep, I hear off in the distance, a soft, exhausted voice muttering, "Love you."

* * *

A beam of sunlight cracks through my blinds, aimed directly at my eyes. I grunt in irritation, turning my head to avoid the light. I hear a voice murmur, "Hey," so I pause. It takes me a minute to realize that my head is pressed up against the bottom of Stan's chin.

I crack an eye open, letting my position settle in. I wonder for a moment how I came to be lying on Stan's chest, then shake off the curiosity and tilt my head up, gently kissing his neck.

He mutters, "Hey," again, but, this time, a light smile plays across his lips as his arms wrap around me and pull me closer against him. "Your arms are cold," he says, rubbing his fingers against my forearm.

"Well, we slept on top of the covers, so I don't doubt that," I reply and he finally opens his eyes.

"Huh, you're right," he says, looking from the covers to me. "Thank God my mom said that, since I went to church _last_ week, I could skip it this week. I'd rather be here, anyway."

There's a moment of silence and then he chews on his lip, obviously deep in thought. "Hey," he says, a thoughtful yet nervous look upon his face, "do you think Cartman was lying about the whole 'Why Wendy broke up with me' thing?"

I sigh loudly. Jesus, they're broken up and we _still_ have to talk about her? "I don't know, Stan. Does it really matter? It's _true_, isn't it? I mean, people are gonna' have to find out eventually, aren't they?"

"Wel—…I, uhh…I dunno." He turns his face away from me, staring at the TV—which has apparently been on all night.

"Dude, football season's _over_, isn't it?"

"Almost; next Friday is our last game."

"Oh, right…okay, so _after_ that, then?"

He turns his face back around and watches me carefully for a moment. Finally, he nods, smiling softly. "Okay, but we'll start slow, right? Just like one or two people…let it spread around that way?"

"Yeah, sure. Oh, and our parents, too." His smile quickly fades at my mentioning of that one word. "Well, we have to. I think they'll be okay with it—maybe not at first, but eventually. At least it's _you_ and _me_, rather then us being with some guys they don't even know."

"Yeah, it would suck if I was with someone else besides you." He smirks slyly, kissing the corner of my eye. "But I don't wanna' disappoint them, you know?"

"I know. Trust me, _I_ know. But it's not changing who we are, just who we wanna' be with. They have to respect that. Even if they don't, I'll still be with you. Right?"

"Right." He pulls me even further into him, sighing loudly into my hair. "God I'm glad I have you," he whispers in one quick, breathing sentence. "What time is it?"

I glance at the clock "Ten thirty."

"Okay, church is over in half an hour," he says, more to himself than to me.

"So? Do you have to meet your parents there or something?"

"No, I just…I think we should talk to Wendy."

"_Dude_, not this shit again—"

"No, no…I mean, I think we should…_tell_ her."

I push up and turn to look Stan dead in the eye. "Excuse me? _You_ think we should tell her? Shit, when I said you've grown up, I had no idea how much."

"Well, I fell really guilty about the whole thing, since I did technically cheat on her. Plus, if we get to her before school tomorrow, there's a lesser chance she'll blab anything to anyone—you know, if we ask her not to."

Ah, so _there's_ the real reason for Stan's sudden honesty toward Wendy. Well, I'm still so impressed with him right now that I can forget about all that other "real reason" stuff. "Maybe you're right," I say. "Telling her would be the best idea, but…what if she _didn't _break up with you because she thought you were fooling around with me? Won't it just really hurt her?"

Stan purses his lips, considering this. "But all she wanted from me was to be honest…I'm sure she still wants that."

"Too bad you couldn't have done it _while_ you two were dating. Sorry," I apologize quickly.

He shakes his head, waving off my jab. "Nah, you're right about that. Anyway, like I said, church is over in half an hour; we'll head over to her house in, like, an hour."

"Okay, fine." I push myself up into a sitting position. "So," I say, sniffing the sleeve of my tee shirt, "I'm going to take a shower." I stand up and slide off the bed. I pause, swaying a bit at the light head rush.

"Oh, really? Care for company?" he asks with a mischievous grin.

"As tempting as _that_ is, my bathroom connects with Ike's bedroom, and I don't think that he could take _that_ much childhood trauma."

Stan gives me a playfully depressed look, pouting out his bottom lip. "Well then," he says, grabbing onto my wrist, "I'm afraid I can't let you go."

"Hey!" I laugh, trying to pull out of his grip.

Of course, he's about three times stronger than I am, so all it takes for him to pull be back onto the bed is one quick tug.

He rolls on top of me, pinning me own. He leans in close and sniffs. "Shit, you do smell bad. It must be from all that hot, sweaty sex we had last night."

"Dude, we didn't _have_ sex last night."

"Oh, so you noticed, too? Now, don't you see how wrong that is?" I laugh, but a pair of lips cuts my laughter off short.

After a few minutes, he pulls away and rolls off of me. "Okay, I can't take it anymore. Just get your ass in the shower now. Goddamn."

I scoff. "Asshole," I snap at him, before rolling swiftly off the bed and making a dash to the door. I'm almost out into the hallway when I feel a pillow smack against the back of my head, followed by laughter.

I've gotta' admit, he's behaving pretty well for a guy who's about to tell his ex-girlfriend that, one, he cheated on her, and, two, that he cheated on her _with a guy_. He could just be withholding his emotions, I guess. Either way, I'm incredibly impressed with him right now.

And I'd probably be able to enjoy that if _I_ wasn't so goddamn nervous. Why do I have this sickening feeling like we're about to destroy both Wendy's world, and ours as well?

_To Be Continued…_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note – Two years since I've updated. I'm sure you all thought that I died or forgot about this story, but no, that's not what happened at all, I swear. The complete background on what happened is on my bio, if you want to know what the hell happened to me.

Basically, I want – very badly – to finish this story, and, by God, I plan on doing so. And what finally convinced me to pick this up again? I got a glimpse at some of the reviews that were left after I disappeared, and I just couldn't leave this unfinished. So, if you still remember me, or this story, please read, and let me know if I should continue.

I have completely re-read the story, and, of course, I need more angst. It was getting too happy for my enjoyment. :D I think I stepped it up rather quickly in this chapter, but, hey, I hadn't written anything for this story in years; I couldn't resist hurting them. But I promise it won't always be this bad. And, yeah, Stan and Kyle's relationship hits a pretty hard rough patch, but I wanted the angst, and it seems more in-character for it to happen this way. So, read, review, and (hopefully) enjoy.

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

"Pride is a personal commitment. It is an  
attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity."  
-Unknown

"If a man harbors any sort of fear, it percolates  
through all his thinking, damages his  
personality, makes him landlord to a ghost._"_  
-Lloyd Cassel Douglas

"Hello life, how have you been?  
Looks as though I'm back with you again.  
"I would never say I fucking hate it,  
Neither am I joyful or elated."  
-Graveltrap "Subconscious Gravel Jukebox"

"The only thing that comforts me is  
knowing that you'll never be happy."  
-Straylight Run "It's Everyone's Fault But Mine"

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"You do realize what you're doing here, right?" I ask, looking cautiously over at Stan. "You do realize that you're about to tell Wendy that you're gay, right?"

He sighed, and I notice that his knuckles are white from where he is gripping the steering wheel far too tightly. "I think so. I mean, yeah, I know what I'm doing. This is the way to handle it, right? Just…just tell her." He's not talking to me and I know it; any fool could see that he is simply talking to himself, convincing himself that what he is doing is the "right thing." And, frankly, I'm not too sure that it is.

And I'm not too convinced that _he's_ convinced. If that makes sense.

I click my tongue. "I love you," I say, rather uneasily.

"Uh-huh," he replies out of the corner of his mouth. He's completely horrified. Not a good sign. He starts drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He looks over at me, with a level of terror in his eyes that I've never seen before, and, the second he turns his eyes back to the road, he slams on the breaks. My body lurches forward and is caught by the abrasive arms of the seatbelt. He pulls into someone's driveway and slams the car into Park.

"Stan? What the fuck are you doing?" I snap, yanking on the seatbelt, begging it to give me some slack; I need to _breathe_, dammit.

"I can't. Okay? I can't do it. I'm not like you; I'm not brave, and I'm…I'm not gay. Okay? I love Wendy, and I'm going to get her back." He does not look at me as the words fall from his mouth. I stare at him, wide-eyed, but not surprised. "I can't," he says again, as though I hadn't fucking heard him the first time.

"Ever?"

"Ever."

I continue to stare at him. My mouth is not agape, my eyes are no longer wide. I'm hurt, but I can't feel it. I'm numb. Completely numb. I'm not even sure I could walk if I wanted to. "Is that really what you want? You want her, and not me."

He says nothing, so I repeat my statement. He looks over at me, face blank, and eyes pained. "This isn't about what I want. It's about what I need. I need a girlfriend, not a boyfriend, if I want to succeed. No college will accept me. No one will accept me."

"I would –"

"You're not enough." That caused my mouth to fall, and my heart felt like it was fucking_ bleeding_. "I need more than just a boyfriend. I can't live my life in hiding, not accomplishing anything, being hated by my family. If my dad wouldn't talk to me again, Kyle, I'd kill myself, I think. I need to make him _proud_ of me, Kyle! And the only way I can is to become a football player for the NFL or something. How many fags do you see playing football? How _many, _Kyle?"

I don't reply. Frankly, I have nothing to say.

"I don't think we should hang out anymore," he says, and I want to cry, but, I can't, I _won't_. I'm way too numb to cry, anyway. "It's just too confusing for me. Seeing you and feeling that way toward you…it's making everything too difficult. You're just…"

"Ruining your life?" I finish, my eyes narrowing. All I can feel is anger coursing through my body. I want to wrap my fingers around his throat and _beat_ sense into his empty fucking head. But, then, I don't even want to touch him, how much he disgusts me.

"No, it's not _that_ –" he tried to explain, but fuck him, and fuck his explanations.

"Well, that's just fine, Stan. Go on, and live your life the way you want to. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, letting myself hide for you. I'm _proud_ of who I am, unlike you. I am fucking _proud_ that I like dick. If you're not, then go, hide behind your girlfriend – grab her tits in public, screw her in the movie theatre, do what you have to do to convince the_ world_ that you like pussy. Go ahead. But I'm not going to. Hell, if you want, tell Wendy the reasons we were sneaking around were because I was confused about my sexuality and just needed a friend; _tell her that_. Because at least the school will know that_ I'm _gay. And I need that. I hate hiding, and I hate that you're ashamed of yourself."

He sits there, silent, staring at the center of the steering wheel. I'm almost positive he's ignoring me, and I honestly don't care. "Let me out," I snap. "Go and get Wendy back. Get laid, tell her you love her, get married, have kids. Just leave me the fuck out of it."

I open the door, then slam it shut. As soon as I take a step away from the vehicle, it roars to life, then, before I know it, it has disappeared from sight, carrying off the biggest lie of the driver's life.

God only knows if there are people in the house who's driveway I am currently standing on, but, if there is, they don't come out. Even when I've collapsed onto my knees, sobbing without any tears, punching the pavement with my fists, tearing the skin and causing tiny, red drops to plop onto the cement, they don't come out. They're probably too freaked out about the little gay boy crying about his lost love.

Hell, I'm freaked out about it, too.

After about five minutes, I stand, pressing the scrapes on my knuckles into my mouth. "Shit," I whisper, turning on my heel and walking down the driveway, onto the sidewalk.

It's amazing how quickly life changes on you. This morning, waking up next to the person I love, hearing his words about how he was going to make everything better for me, for us, I thought life couldn't get much better. I should've known that everything would come crashing down once Stan actually thought about what he was doing.

My heart is killing me. I've finally lost him, I think. Well, until that one day comes when he finally snaps and he can't stand touching Wendy anymore and he calls me in the middle of the night, promising me more and more. Promising, and promising, and promising.

I can't take any more promises. But, I know that if Stan came back, and made those promises, I'd take him back in a heartbeat. I love him. I really do. I love everything about the son-of-a-bitch, even when he breaks my heart like this.

I wish I knew why I'm not freaking out like I have in the past. I guess all of the pain he's caused me has just numbed me. I don't think I can feel pain anymore. Or maybe I'm just not convinced that it's over for us. Either way, I'm pissed off, not upset.

I inhale deeply as I stroll down the sidewalk back to my house. My chest is so tight that I feel like my skin is about to tear about like the fucking Incredible Hulk. I can't even believe all of the bullshit he tried to feed me. He's just a goddamn coward and it pisses me off more than anything he has ever done. Dammit Stan and your pathetic denial.

Before I know it, I'm standing in front of Kenny's house. He's sitting on his stoop, smoking what looks like a cigar. "Hey Kyle," he says, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. "Where's your man?"

"Who fucking cares," I spit, flopping down beside him. "Where'd you get the cigar?" I ask in a desperate attempt to calm myself down.

"This really hot guy. Rich as fuck. A little old for my taste, but, hey, I'll do anything for a buck. So imagine what I did for two hundred bucks and three of these babies." He grinned, holding it out to me. "Wanna' try?"

"Sure," I say, taking the cigar and pressing it to my lips, making sure not to inhale as I've been told is a pretty fucking stupid thing to do. I exhale, watching the stream of smoke float into the air. "Hm, not bad," I admit, handing it back to him.

"Bet your ass. It's nothing compared to pot, but it'll do." He looks at me, and that sexy, sultry look that he usually wears on his face melts away into concern. "Where'd you say Stan was?"

"Begging Wendy to take him back, I guess." His eyes widen. "Yeah, that was my reaction, too."

"Why? Doesn't he realize how lucky he is to have full access to that hot ass of yours twenty-four/seven?" He smiles, but quickly wipes it away when he sees I'm not smiling back. "Sorry. But seriously, Kyle, what's his deal? I thought you two were fucking crazy about each other; I've never seen anything like it when you two were together. Not to sound queer or anything," he adds with a wink.

I give him a wan smile. "I wish I knew. God I've never been so pissed off in my entire life. But now…shit, I don't even know." My eyes mist over. "Oh fuck Kenny…I've really lost him, haven't I?" He puts an arm over me and fuck I just lose it. I cling onto him, practically causing him to lose his cigar, and sob into his shoulder.

"You need to move on, you know," he says and I pull away, wiping my eyes. "You don't deserve all the shit he does to you. You need to get out there, meet some guys who will treat you right, or, at the very least, be a good lay for you. You just came out, Kyle. Don't obsess over some guy who won't let you be gay."

I sniff. I don't _want_ to move on. I just want to be lying in Stan's arms every night, hearing him say those three words to me every single day. Is that such a terrible desire? Apparently, since fate has been conspiring against us since the get-go.

"You want me to introduce you to someone? I know lots of guys: gay ones, bi ones, ones who'll dress up for you, ones who'll pay you…it'll be good for you." He smiles. "C'mon Kyle, please?"

"I don't think so, Kenny. I'm just not ready. I still can't stop hoping that one day Stan will realize what a douche he's been and come back to me. I mean, he's the love of my life, Kenny; I know that sounds, pathetic and naïve, but it's true."

"I'm not telling you to get a steady, long-term thing, Kyle. I'm talking about a rebound; someone to make you feel sexy, to feel worthwhile. And, if Stan comes back, you drop the rebound on his ass and go back to Stan; meanwhile, the rebound goes and gets his own rebound, and so on. It's the circle of life, Kyle."

I sigh. "Besides," he continues, "what if he's not the love of your life?" It stings to hear someone say that; even in spite of all the shit he's put me though, I'd still do anything for Stan, and I just can't imagine myself with anyone else. "What if there's someone out there far better for you, and you're missing your chance on being happy? Don't you want to be happy?"

"I can't be happy without Stan," I say, knowing how immature and pitiable it sounds. But it's true; I'm miserable without him. How can I possibly date anyone else knowing how I feel about him? It wouldn't be fair. "I'm sorry, Kenny, I just can't. Not yet, anyway. Stan…he…he'll realize it, eventually. I know it, I know_him_."

"I hope so, Kyle. But just promise me one thing."

"Sure."

"If you feel yourself starting to like someone else, don't let your feelings about Stan stop you, all right?"

"Done."

"And promise me something else."

"Okay?"

"Don't go too long without getting some. It's just unhealthy. Remember, Kenny's always here in case you need a good time." He grins, tousling my hair like I'm his kid (or his lover, maybe. I try not to think about what he does with his dates). "You need that shit cut, my friend. Mind if I do something about it? I can make you look like a fucking model, and I guarantee Stan will be falling over himself to fuck you."

"You know how to cut hair?" I sound astonished, more so than I meant to. But could you blame me? Someone with hair like Kenny's (hair that has obviously never been cut) isn't often pegged for a hairdresser.

"I told you, Kyle. Anything for a dollar," he said, winking. "Okay, honestly, it's just something I have a passion for. I love hair. Long, short, whatever. It's the biggest turn-on of them all."

I smile weakly, and agree. At least it'll get my mom off of my back about the hair business. Plus I could use a change. Not that I haven't had enough to last me a lifetime.

But that's what it's all about, right? Change? Without change, what the fuck is there?

But I don't know if I can take a change as drastic as not loving Stan anymore.

* * *

I walk into the school with an air of confidence I haven't had in a while. I must say, Kenny is a goddamn hair _genius_, who would've known? My Jew-fro is officially no more, and has been replaced by a shorter, dare I say, _sexier_ hairdo. I must admit, I look a hell of a lot better. I can tell; I'm getting checked out by a lot of girls. It's almost laughable; most guys want all that attention from chicks. Me? I'm busy vying for the attention of the quarterback. Blissfully ironic, isn't it? 

I see him standing by Wendy's locker, gently touching her on the shoulder. I see they're back together; I wonder what lie he gave her to convince her to take her back? Most likely not my "I'm gay and confused" story; he wouldn't want a story that involves homosexuality in any way, shape or form.

He leans in toward her, kissing her neck. She smiles in what I can only assume is ecstasy. I hate that bitch, I really do. What has she done to deserve him?

He looks over at me and I quickly look away. Did he see me staring at him? Shit I hope not. I don't need him thinking that I'm obsessing over him. Even though I totally am. I'm a pathetic loser. Fuck. Life sucks, doesn't it?

"He is _so_ checking you out, Kyle," Kenny whispers to me, popping up from nowhere, as he tends to do. "Well, not so much 'checking you out' as 'looking over at you', but it's all relatively the same."

"I guess. Kenny, what are you doing this weekend? I don't know if I want to be alone, you know?" That came out of nowhere. Sure, the night before I had been considering asking Kenny if I could do something with him, now that Stan and I are friends no longer. It'd give me a chance to meet some people and have some fun. It seems like all I've been doing lately is making everyone else happy, and not myself. I deserve happiness, right? If not natural happiness, then forced happiness. I'll take anything right about now. I've done too much crying these past weeks. I don't even feel like me anymore. I feel like a zombie, or a robot; Stan has just sucked all of the _me_ out of me. What's left? Nothing. Just emptiness.

"Not sure. Meet some people, hang out, go to some parties. You wanna' come? You totally should."

I'm not sure about parties. I've always been such a good kid, I'm not sure if I want to corrupt myself like that. Then again, being a good kid hadn't earned me much other than heartbreak, so who am I to say no?

"Maybe. I mean, at these parties, are there other, you know, gay guys there?" Not that I'm looking for someone, or anything. I just think it'd be nice to meet more people like, well, like me.

"Probably. Bisexual guys, definitely." He pauses, looking at me. "Like I said, there's a little something of everything. But I've gotta' warn you, Kyle, these parties get pretty hardcore. Unless you want to get completely trashed or stoned, I wouldn't advise coming along."

"Well, I wouldn't have to do any of it, right?"

"'Course not. I'd never force you into anything. You know that." He looks almost offended.

"Sorry," I apologize. "What I meant was, _they_ wouldn't force me into anything, right?" I smile carefully.

He smiles back, thank God. "I doubt it. They're good people. I just wouldn't get to close to anyone smoking pot; it's easier to get high off second hand smoke than it is taking a hit, you know."

"Heh, yeah. I'll be careful."

"Awesome. I've been dying to take one of you guys, but you've all seemed like such pussies I never wanted to." He grins. "Seems like you're really toughening up. Maybe the whole Stan thing isn't such a big deal after all."

He pats me on the back, then scuttles off down the hallway. I smile to myself. Maybe he's right; maybe Stan breaking my heart wasn't a terrible thing. Please. I know better than that. But I have to keep up a tough front, or else I think I'll completely lose it. I _need_ social interaction; I _need_ to feel like I'm as much of a catch as Stan made me feel. Sure, odds are I'll never be happy until I'm back in Stan's arms, but that doesn't mean I can't go a little bit crazy, right?

In fact, maybe if I get another boyfriend, Stan will go crazy-jealous and beg me to come back to him. I refuse to lose him. He's my everything, and I'll do whatever it takes to get him back.

Shit. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing; I think I'm going insane. I look over at Stan and he looks back at me. And, for a moment, I can see the longing in his eyes before he turns back to Wendy and plants a huge kiss on her undeserving lips. A surge of jealously spills into my gut. I have to get him back. And, sure, maybe getting him jealous is the way to do it. If not, maybe it will at least give me a chance to learn how to be happy with Stan. It's a lesson I thought I'd never have to learn. And I'm not sure I'm going to be willing to learn it.

But I'll try. I'll sure as hell try.

_To Be Continued..._

Author's Note (continued) – I am getting off-track of Stan and Kyle, I know, but I just wanted this to seem partially realistic (Kyle's feelings after the break-up are kinda/sorta based off of a true story featuring yours truly :D). On the bright side, I get to write more Kenny, who is one of my favorites to write. And I promise, Stan/Kyle is my favorite, so, even though they're apart currently, it doesn't mean anything. :D

Now, if you would be so kind, please review.

And, like I said, I'm so, so sorry it took so long to get this updated. Life throws shit at you sometimes. But I'm not stopping until this is finished, I promise.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer – I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note – Yeah, this took me longer than I expected. I just got so excited about writing this that my mind got ahead of me and I was writing future chapters. I'm sorry; I honestly didn't mean to make this take so long to get out. But, thanks SO much to everyone who reviewed. If you didn't get a response to your review, I apologize, but my time in the library was lax as of late, so I did what I could. I still love each and every one of you, though!

PS: My login verification number when I logged in today was 666, so I'm terrified that either, one, this chapter will get terrible reviews, or, two, the computer will burst into flames in front of me. I'm kind of superstitious, what can I say. :D

* * *

The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves.  
We live in denial of what we do, even what we think.  
We do this because we're afraid.  
-Richard Bach

That's right, I'm blaming this all on you  
And the little things you didn't do.  
We both knew that you were stronger,  
Could have fought a little longer.  
You didn't hold it tight enough.  
-Cauterize "Killing Me"

You could've been all I wanted,  
But you weren't honest.  
Now get in the ground.  
You choked off the surest of favors.  
But if you really loved me,  
You would've endured my world.  
Well you're just, as I presumed,  
A whore in sheep's clothing.  
Fucking up - all I do.  
And if it's here we stop, then never  
Again will you see this in your life.  
-Coheed and Cambria "Welcome Home"

Love is how it's lost, not how it's found.  
-Azure Ray "Safe and Sound"

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

I walk into my AP English class and I see Cartman, reclined back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head, fingers laced, with a sly grin on his face. Well, I can be honest and say that I totally forgot that he knew about me and Stan. "Well, hello, Kyle," he says, with a smugness that makes me almost laugh; he has blackmail, sure, but, little does he know that the blackmail is expired. It's fantastic. "You're looking positively queer today."

I smile, running my fingers through my short hair. "It must be the hair. I blow-dried it this morning and put some product in it. You know how we gays love making ourselves pretty." The few other people that are in the room chuckle, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm not joking. It's true, though; I _do_ love making myself up, now that I can actually stand to look in the mirror.

"Is that before or after you get it up the ass?" Cartman snaps back. He must be annoyed that I'm not begging and pleading for his undying mercy. Please. I'd never beg Cartman for _shit_.

"After, obviously. If you'd ever had sex, you'd know how much it can mess up your hair." Zing. The scattering of laughter returns, and Cartman is beet-red. His eyes are black slits on his face. I want to just die laughing; I love seeing him pissed off at me.

"Well maybe _you and Stan_ should make _another date_ for tonight so you can get more practice doing your goddamn hair!" he practically shouts, and no one takes him seriously at all. Did he _really_ think that anyone would believe a word out of his mouth? "Like on_ Saturday_ when I _saw you guys making out in the street_."

"Yeah, and then the three of us skipped over to Kenny's house and we partook in a gigantic orgy with Tweek and Jimmy, right?" I roll my eyes, plopping down at my desk. "I don't think Wendy would approve of that, Cartman. Stan's her tool, after all."

"They broke up, remember? Because she thought you two were fucking. _Remember?_" He's whining, and, frankly, it's pissing me off.

Bebe, who oh-so-conveniently happened to be passing by just at that moment, pokes her head into the room and laughed. "Where have you _been_, Cartman? They got back together yesterday! Stan explained to her that he's just been super-stressed lately, what with football and school and stuff. And they apparently _made up_ quite a bit last night," she adds with a wink.

My stomach heaves. Just the _thought_ of their disgusting "oh, I'm so not gay" sex makes me want to vomit. Not that I'm turning into a heterophobe, I just cannot stomach the fact that he still gets hard for her, even in spite of the fact that he is such a queer. How is it possible? That's a question I simply do not want answered.

Besides, I don't give a shit about him. No, not at all. He's…just stupid; a stupid, stupid boy. And I, apparently, have the mentality and resentment of a three-year-old. I hate me.

Cartman flings his glare over at me. "Aren't you sad, you fucking Jew? Your fuckbuddy is back with his girlfriend, and now what are you going to do?" I raise my eyebrows and smirk, shrugging. He grunts. "Goddammit."

He finally turns back around and my smirk fades. This is all such bullshit. How can I expect to really be able to come out and actually be happy if I don't have someone with whom to come out? I really needed that rock to lean on, just in case people did not take it all that well. Not that it's going to stop me any; I fully intend on coming out to my parents just as I planned – right after football season is over. At least then, the football team won't be working out anymore and I'll have less of a chance of getting completely killed. Ha ha. Shit.

The bell rings and class begins. The teacher begins his useless rambling about shit I already know and/or will never need to know. My eyes fog over and my hand is sitting motionless upon the sheet of paper on my desk. My heart is throbbing and, let's be honest, I would really enjoy breaking down and sobbing. Not because of Stan…no, it's not that at all. There's no way he still has that viselike grip on my heart and emotions - no fucking way. I mean, after everything he did to me, I refuse to admit that I still love him more than my own life and soul. After all, he's not the most important person in my life, and he hasn't been for God only knows how long. He's not. And he hasn't been.

My dry eyes burn, my chest heaves. The tip of my pencil presses roughly into the paper until the lead snaps off. I moan inwardly. It's all so trivial to me now. Losing him, as much as I detest confessing it, has made everything change in my eyes. What's the point of trying hard if I won't be happy, in spite of the results? My parents sure as hell won't hide me any less if I get straight-A's all through high school and college. Fuck, they won't stop riding me even if I became the next Bill Gates and made so much money I could buy the fucking happiness that's been ripped away from me.

No matter what I do, I will never please anyone, myself included. I stare at the blank – save for a black smudge where my lead broke off – paper and sigh. I miss Stan. Except I swear I don't. Denial may be unhealthy, but God it makes me feel so damn good.

"—Kyle?"

"Hmm?" I respond, looking up into the waiting eyes of my teacher.

He sighs in that condescending way that only teachers and parents seems to possess. "As I already asked, what is poetry that is written in unrhymed iambic pentameter referred to as?"

"Blank verse," I reply robotically, the words rolling off of my tongue effortlessly. Why do I know this crap? Oh, right, because of the hours I'm forced to crush each and every little detail into my brain every fucking night.

"Good." He eyes me. And another question in three, two, one: "And a caesura is…?"

I fight off the urge to sigh like a smartass and say, "A break in a line of the poem."

"Very good," he replies, but his expression reads differently. "Please try and pay better attention when I'm talking."

"Sure thing." I drop my gaze back to my paper and feign writing notes. Suddenly, Cartman slides a note onto my desk. I unfold it and read the messy, chicken-scratch handwriting:

w_ere u guys just fuckin w/ me on sat. nite? cuz it sure didnt  
look faked to me. u looked so into it, it was so fuckin sick.  
plus i saw ur eyes when i caught u. that had to be real._

I roll my eyes, reach into my pen-pouch for a spare pencil, and jot down a response:

_Yeah Cartman, we were faking it. With how you had  
been going on with us being gay, we decided to just  
screw with your mind. I was just surprised that you  
tried to blackmail us: that surprise was real.  
Please, me and Stan? Please, don't you think that  
I'd go after Kenny first? He's much hotter. Har har._

I fold the note back up and slide it back to Cartman, who, upon reading my reply, snorts, and scribbles something else down. I'm getting kind of sick and tired of this junior high shit; I hope the note-writing ends soon.

He slides it back to me, and I open it up:

_if u say so jew. not like it really matters anymore  
now that stans back w/ wendy no 1 would believe  
me anyway...no worries ill get better blackmail on  
the 2 of u 1 day_

What the fuck ever. I crumple up the paper and shove it into my notebook. I pick up my pencil again and start scribbling, the words crushing down and imbedding themselves in the following page, each letter so thickly printed that my hand starts cramping at the third word.

_**Are you fucking proud of yourself? Are you  
perfectly THRILLED that you ruined everything  
for the both of us?? Because I would have done  
ANYTHING FOR YOU!! But refuse to admit who  
I really am? I just can't. And if you truly love  
me, you wouldn't even LET me lie to everyone  
about it. But you don't really love me, do you?  
Not more than your reputation, anyway. And  
that's just fine. I don't need you to keep me down  
anymore…all I need is someone who is willing  
to walk down a crowded street holding hands  
with me. And if that ends up not being you, sure,  
I won't really be happy. But it's better than hiding.  
It's so much better than hiding. A person who  
loves himself is a hell of a lot better than someone  
who's afraid of who he really is. And I can't be with  
someone who hates himself, because that means that  
he can't really love me back. So, enjoy your girlfriend,  
and enjoy your fantastic straight life. I don't need any  
part of it. I just need to enjoy who I am. I want my  
parents to know, I want my friends, and classmates,  
and the fucking PRESIDENT to know. Because for the  
first time in my life, I truly understand who I am, and  
I just can't live an unhappy life anymore. I just can't.  
As someone who's said he loves me, you should be  
the one person by my side who would understand  
that. But you're not, and you don't. And I finally  
think I'm able to accept it.**_

Before I know it, the bell is ringing. It's amazing how writing down incoherent, pissed off thoughts can make the time just fly. Will I actually give the note to Stan? Doubtful. Would it even matter? A hundred times more doubtful. Besides, he would probably run away faster than I would be able to get to him. I have a sudden urge to go and try and talk to him. I stand up from my desk, gathering my books in my arms. It's a terrible longing that I can't ignore…perhaps, if I try, I can at least stay in Stan's contact; maybe I can slowly convince him to admit who he is.

I follow the flood of kids into the hallway, pushing past the tall bodies – and getting quite a few elbows to the chest – and I finally reach Stan's locker. And who should be standing there – no, not Stan – but Wendy. Damn it.

"Hi Kyle," she says, looking at me with what I think is (and oh it better not be) pity. Who the fuck does she think she is? "How are you doing?"

"Well, Stan's pissed off at me; how do you think I'm doing?" I snap back, not meaning to sound as hostile as I do. But then again, I totally do mean to.

She frowns. "I'm sorry, Kyle. I feel like this is all my fault. I just _had _to tell Cartman, _as a joke_, that I broke up with him because I thought you two were…you know…together. He was just being such an _asshole_; I mean, you know how he can be."

"Yeah." Oh, she was joking about that? Such blissful irony. And it takes every inch of my being to not start laughing and pointing in her face, yelling, _We were, we were, we were!_ Instead, I say, "Don't worry too much about it; no one believes a word that fatass says, anyway."

She smiles, and, okay, yeah, she's really pretty, but it's just unfair. It's all just so unfair. "I know, but I think that's why Stan's mad at you. I tried to explain that I was joking to him, but he said that he didn't want to risk lying to me again and that you were, somehow, like…" She puckers her lips, and I suppose she's trying to think of the word. "…like you _manipulated_ him involuntarily into lying to me." My eyes widen in shock, and she nods. "I know, I think it's a crock of shit, too."

I grin despite myself. I've always liked the way Wendy says what she thinks, and how she stands up for what she thinks is right. She's probably one of the few gay-supporters in South Park. I mean, after the Matthew Shephard incident years ago, she was the one to organize a school "gay awareness" day, where she gave a pretty damn good speech about hate crimes and such. She was so awesome when she wasn't stealing away the love of my life.

"But listen, I don't want to come between you guys; you've been best friends for _so long_, and I refuse to be the one to ruin that. I'm going to talk to Stan, okay? Make him see that if you two aren't friends, he and I just won't be the same." She smiles. "Besides, he needs friends to hang out with; if I see him any more, I might just kill him."

"Thanks, Wendy, but I don't want to force him into being my friend again. If he wants to be an asshole, that's his own problem. He'll come around, like he always does, when he realizes what a dick he's been."

"Okay. Well if it takes too long, I might just have to step in. Bebe and the girls want to go on vacation for Thanksgiving Break, and I can't go if Stan's going to act all weird and mopey around me."

"Weird and mopey?" I repeat, confused.

"Yeah. Ever since he came over yesterday to try and 'win me back,' he's just been acting so weird. Like, even when we were kissing or – you know –" She blushes deeply, bushing a stray section of hair out of her face. "You know…he just didn't have that passion he used to have, and he just never seemed happy. Maybe I'm just paranoid, considering how schizophrenic he's been lately. And it hasn't been easy, considering how I can't tell my best friend _anything_ without it being spread around the school. It makes me feel like a whore; it's so degrading."

"Yeah, don't worry too much, though; no one believes anything she says, really." Why am I trying to make her feel better? I thought she was my sworn enemy. I don't know who I am anymore.

She smiles at me. "That's true. I mean, I love her, but she needs to learn to shut the fuck up. I mean, it's not like I go around telling everyone she gave Craig a blowjob on the bus last month. Oh, oops," she adds with a sassy grin. My mouth drops, then I bust out laughing. I want so badly to hate Wendy, but she makes it so goddamn hard. She's a hell of catch, and, if I liked pussy, I'd be after hers just as heavily as every other guy in my class. But, alas, it's her boyfriend's pants I like to get in; life is funny sometimes.

"Well, I'd better get going," I say, nodding toward my locker. "Gotta get to class."

"Yeah, me too. But it's been great talking to you, Kyle. It seems like you and I haven't really hung out in years, and you're such a great guy. Stan better get his head on straight, or I just might have to do it for him."

"Thanks, Wendy. I appreciate that." I check my watch; six minutes of time left to get to my next class; hopefully I'll be able to find Stan before then.

"Well, I'll see you." And, with that, she turns and floats down the hallway, her long, dark hair drifting behind her. I love that she still wears that beret from so long ago; it really suits her. For a moment, I really feel bad for calling her a bitch – albeit, inside of my head – all those times. But who could blame me?

"What were you two talking about?" I jump probably about a foot in the air and spin around, looking up into the nervous eyes of Stan. "Huh?"

"We were just talking, Stan. You said I had to stay away from _you_, but you didn't say anything about your girlfriend." I smile like the smartass that I am, cocking my head.

"Kyle, please, don't do this…" He looks so hurt that it's killing me, but I can't let him see that. I just want to make him _ache_ until he can't take it anymore. "You know this isn't what I want, but it's what I have to do. I thought you'd understand that." He's whispering, but I can hear the anxiety in his voice.

"Oh, right, I should just understand that you want nothing else to do with me. I should just _accept_ that your reputation is far more important than me. I should just_accept_ that you're a fucking coward who will never learn from _shit_, no matter how many times he gets it wrong." I exhale loudly, shaking my head. "You know perfectly well that what we had was incredible, and you were still willing to go crawling back to her. You want her, fine, I'll accept that. But I'm not going to sit here and wait forever. Kenny knows people; he's going to introduce me to people, and, before you know it, I'll have fallen in love with someone else. And if you're willing to risk that, then fuck you, and have a good fucking life."

My eyes are practically shooting fire as I glare at him, stepping toward him so that my thigh is pressing deeply into the rise of his pants. He closes his eyes, breathing heavily. "Kyle, goddammit, _stop it_. You're acting like such an asshole –"

"No, Stan. I'm not. I'm mad, and I'm just tired of being let down by you. That's all. But it's fine. I'll go and hang out with Kenny for a while, and I'll find someone who isn't like you. Someone who's willing to date me in public, and willing to come out with me to my parents. I'm not afraid, Stan. And I wish you weren't, either." I back away from him, sighing. "I love you, Stan," I say so softly that I doubt he even heard it, "but it's all up to you, now."

I turn from him, walking to my locker and retrieving my books. As I slam my locker and begin my trek down the hallway to my next class, he is still standing in his spot, looking at me, but his eyes aren't reading any kind of emotion; none that I can detect, anyway.

I honestly can't believe that I said all of that; and, more astonishing to me, I'm not bursting into tears like I used to. I guess I'm toughening up. I like it; I hated the sensitive guy I used to be. I like being able to stand up for myself, and, as a gay guy in this town, it's a skill I'm going to need.

Deep down in my gut, I do have faith in Stan – faith in his ability to know what's right. Having been friends with him for so long, I know that he does have the ability to be true to himself. All it'll take is time. But I refuse to sit around and wait; I have every intention of letting Kenny set me up; I refuse to waste precious time where I could be meeting guys.

Ha. Like any other guy could really hit me the way that Stan does. But it never hurts to look.

* * *

Kenny meets me outside of the high school, his blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. "Hello, dear queer," he says, smiling at me. I fling my backpack over my shoulder and give him a snarky half-smile. "Don't look at me like that, Kyle; you know that drives me crazy." 

"Yeah, I know everything drives you crazy," I reply, wincing inwardly at the weight of my bag. Fuck homework, and fuck teachers. "So, where are we going?"

"You know that ice cream shop down the street?" he asks as we start our journey down the sidewalk. "The one that's shaped like an ice cream cone?"

Of course I know it. It's probably the gayest looking building in all of South Park. "Yeah, what about it? No one goes in there except kids and old people."

"Yeah, but there's this guy who works there, Ryder, who is just…you have no idea. Hottest guy I have ever seen. And he's gay."

"Is that right?" I say, trying my hardest to sound enthused, but the truth is, I'm kind of nervous. And who could blame me? "How hot?"

"On a scale from Cartman to me? Three-quarters of a me." He smiles at my obviously irritated expression. "Okay, fine, he's like a nine-point-three. Very sexy, perfect for you."

I click my tongue. "Okay, but how do you know he's gay?" I ask, even though that's a stupid question to ask. Kenny has the finest tuned gay-dar I have ever seen.

"Trust me; I know." He gives me a _look_, and I can't help but grin at him. Is there _anyone_ in this town he hasn't screwed yet? Besides Wendy, Stan, myself, and, perhaps, Cartman. "And he did not disappoint both in looks and in bed."

"You know, I'm not just looking for someone to _do_, Kenny. I want a relationship; I want someone to care about me –"

"Kyle, with your amazing personality and looks, no guy would be able to resist. But please don't exclude a purely physical relationship; you're just in high school, for fuck's sake. Live a little. See more than one penis. Enjoy it." He shakes his head, whipping out a cigarette. "You are such a romantic." He lights the cigarette and inhales. "You'll learn it's much less painful to just have fun and not become attached. Just remember: no glove, no love."

"Wow, I'm surprised to hear _you_ say something like that," I remark, and he gives me a look that almost shames me for having said anything at all. Such _shock_, such _hurt_…I can't believe I hurt his feelings like I just did.

"I'm not a fucking moron, Kyle. You should know that. I don't want AIDS, and I certainly don't want kids. Sure, sex without a condom feels great, but it's not worth it. I thought you knew me better than that."

"I do, I mean, I know…" The words fall out of my mouth, tangling themselves up in the web I just created for myself. "Fuck, Kenny…I'm sorry. I didn't know it meant that much to you."

"Yeah, well…" He takes another drag. "…there was this guy I was fucking, about a year ago. He was one of the ones I saw more often; once a week at least. It wasn't exclusive, don't get that wrong – we each had about five others on the side. But he was special; it was my best. No one could compare." He fingers his cigarette nervously, and I have never seen Kenny like this before.

"It was always a challenge making him use a rubber. I tried to tell him, make sure you always use one; you'll be thankful one day, and he always said, 'Yeah, yeah, I will, don't worry.' And I believed him. Why wouldn't I? I never watching him fuck anyone else; never wanted to. But he didn't. Big surprise. He caught something. He got really sick – I mean, _really sick_, Kyle. He thought he had caught pneumonia or some shit, but I knew better. I dragged his ass into the free clinic and made him get a blood test.

"He had AIDS. Not HIV, or anything. Full blown AIDS. He was so fucking surprised, the dumbass, but I wasn't. I knew it was going to happen. That's why I always told him to use them. I should've slid a packet into his pocket or something, so he wouldn't forget." He pauses, rubbing at his temple. "Ah, fuck. Anyway, he died two months later. He was in denial, couldn't believe he had it. Didn't take meds, hell, didn't even get them. I still think about him sometimes, Kyle. I stopped sleeping around with people for a little while after that."

I stare at him, wide-eyed. I do remember that, some time last year, there was a period of time where Kenny's perverse side had taken a hiatus. He had been quiet, reserved. He hadn't come out much. We had just assumed that he was having so much sex, that he was wiped out during the day.

Shit. We could not have been more wrong. I'm a terrible friend for not having known this. I never ask about what's going on in his life; I always just assume.

"But I decided," he continues, "that I can't let him and his stupidity freak me out. Ever since then, I don't even let a girl or guy get naked anywhere near me without making sure there's a condom around." He smiles. "But no worries; I'm fine now. Can't let someone else's mistakes dictate my life, right?"

"Jesus, Kenny. I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing to say. I didn't want you guys to know, so I didn't tell you. It's no one's fault, Kyle. It just happens." He takes a final drag from his cigarette and drops it into the pavement, crushing it beneath his sneaker. "Just trust me on this: don't regret anything, no matter if it's a one-night stand or losing the love of fifty years. It all adds up the same in the long run, anyway."

I stare at him as we walk in silence. There's so much I don't know about Kenny McCormick, even with all of the years that I have known him. "So this guy," I say, after about six minutes, "good body?"

He grins at me, nodding. "Best you've ever seen. Think: Brad Pitt before he got ugly."

"Wow, sounds impressive."

"Honey, you have no idea." He reaches his arm around my shoulders and hugs me awkwardly, nearly pulling me off-balance. He laughs, "Dammit, Kyle, just accept my love. I don't show it often, so enjoy it while it lasts."

I laugh – a real, thorough belly-laugh – and it feels like it's been ages since I laughed like this. It's been so melancholy lately that I think Kenny's right; having fun and enjoying my youth might just be the only way to really be happy right now. Since obviously a real, love-filled relationship is no longer even on the horizon, not to mention there are hardly any gay guys in South Park who are interested in more than just a "good time."

As Kenny and I walk, side by side, down the narrow walkway, I inhale deeply, adjusting the straps on my bag. My mind drifts back to Stan, and his gorgeous face, his deep eyes, and that amazing smile. And I wonder how in the name of God I'll be able to find someone like him. When he accepted his love toward me, he was the most incredible person I have ever known. He completed me unlike anyone I could imagine. Without him, no matter how much I laugh or how much fun I have, there will always be that empty spot inside of me, longing for him.

And I don't know how long I'll be satisfied with being without him.

_To Be Continued…_


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer – I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note – I know, it's been ages since I've updated. But so much has happened – finals, visiting my family on Winter Break, my boyfriend proposed, and then my computer broke (thanks to my fiancé for that) – that it was almost inevitable. Not that I'm excusing myself, of course. I felt so guilty about leaving this story untouched for so long. It did give me a chance to come up with plenty of ideas, though.

The content in this chapter is darker than other chapters. Quite a bit, actually. But I don't know if it merits a higher rating or not…just let me know. :)

Onto the story. And, as always, thank you all so much for your reviews! And if I did not get a chance to respond to your reviews, I apologize, but I have such limited time. I do appreciate each and every one of them, though! :)

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful.  
But not knowing which to do is  
the worse kind of suffering.  
-Paulo Coelho

Here's a simplification of  
everything we're going through:  
You plus me is bad news  
But you're a lovely creation and  
I like to think that I am too.  
-Sara Bareilles "Love On The Rocks"

And now that I have found someone I'm  
feeling more alone than I ever have before.  
-Ben Folds Five "Brick"

Talk about the weather, will you miss me ever?  
Lately I'm obsessed and I need the rest.  
I hope that you're impressed.  
-Anna Nalick "Drink Me"

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

I can't help but pause at the front door of The Inside Scoop – yes, that's the actual name of the ice cream shop; doesn't it give you that "I'd rather kill myself than admit that I'm going there" feeling? Is Kenny trying to set me up with this guy? I would hate that. Okay, lie: I'd love it. But I can't get overly-zealous and admit that; that Ryder guy would more than likely freak out if he saw me fawning over him like some desperate puppy in a pound ("Pick me! Pick me, _please!"_).

"Kenny," I say, and he pauses, his hand resting on the silver door handle where the glass has been painted to have a transparent texture; the store's hours are painted on the door in a friendly blue shade, along with – this is my favorite – a cheery-eyed ice cream cone holding an "Inside Scoop" newspaper. It's truly an eyesore. So many clashing colors; it's seizure-inducing. "How, um, how old is this guy?"

"He's twenty. But you'd never guess it; he looks so youthful. And not in a pedophile way, either. In a _smoldering _way." He winks at me. "You'd better go for him; I might just have to kill you if you don't."

"We'll see." Well, shit, he's older. I'm not so great around older people; I have a tendency to get a slight bit intimidated by maturity. Or what would appear to be maturity, depending on the person at hand.

Kenny pushes open the door, and gives me the universal hand signal for "after you." I chew on the inside of my lip nervously, then step inside the shop. The first thing I notice is, of course, the fact that it's freezing in here. Sure, I have a coat on, but it's not always enough for that initial shock. The second thing I notice is, as you probably have guessed, the boy. He's not just gorgeous; he's _godlike_. And I bet you are sitting there thinking, oh, such an exaggeration, but I must try and explain: there is not a flaw to be seen on him. Perfect porcelain skin, deep, dark brown eyes, shaggy blonde hair with the occasional brown highlight, and the body – I know that I can only see the top half, but I have no complaints: those _arms_, bulging biceps, and, right beneath his right arm sleeve, I see the corner of an armband tattoo.

I'm floored, but I refuse to let it show. I can hardly believe that I'm finding another guy so attractive after just having decided to give up on Stan. Butterflies are fluttering in my gut, and I take a deep breath to try and settle them down.

"Hello there, Kenny," he says, and his voice is musical. Higher-pitched than what you would expect, but it's also no "queer boy!" voice, either. It's just…lovely. How could everything about this boy just strike me as wonderful? Especially so soon. "How have you been?" Each sentence is a new song, new notes, and a new rhythm. It makes me swoon like some groupie after their favorite band.

"I've been fantastic, as usual, Ryder," he says. He turns to me and says, "This is Kyle. Kyle, this is Ryder." Turning his head back toward Ryder with a look I don't even have to see to know that it is there, he adds, "He's that friend I told you about."

Excuse me? He's been telling people about me? That I'm gay? Well, I suppose that saves me the trouble of having to explain that, um, I, you know, like to, uh, do…boys? And have them do…you know…me? Thank you, Kenny, for saving me from that torturous experience.

"Oh?" he looks at me and smiles and, yes, I continue to swoon. There's nothing wrong with him, I swear. It's a terrible – I mean, fantastic – thing. "I've heard so much about you, Kyle. Kenny just talks my ear off about you."

"Does he?" I ask, peering back at Kenny. "Nothing too…descriptive, I hope." I grin at Ryder, hoping my pathetic attempt at humor doesn't fall flat.

"No, no." He pauses. "Well, yes, a little. Something about a fabulous ass, but that's just a rumor. Though I do hope there's some truth to it." Holy shit. Was that flirting? I mean, I would love if it was, but I'm not exactly the smartest when it comes to detecting sexual tension.

"Worry no longer; it's true," I say, and, before I think about it, I give him a spin, showing off my – for lack of a better word – assets. And surprisingly, I feel no embarrassment.

He laughs, nodding. "Kenny, you don't over exaggerate at all. He's every bit as gorgeous as you said he is." He stares me dead in the eye and I stare right back. He continues to look at me as he asks Kenny, "Are you bringing him to that party this weekend?"

"Um, well…" I hear Kenny shuffling uncomfortably in the background. "I don't know, Ry; that's not really his scene. I don't want him doing anything that would mess him up."

"What do you mean?" I ask, finally breaking my gaze with Ryder long enough to turn back to Kenny, who won't even look me back. "Not my scene?"

"It's nothing personal, Kyle; it's just…all of my friends and I…I mean, you know _me_; I do drugs and I drink like a fish. You don't, and I don't want you starting something like that. You, unlike me, have stuff to lose." He looks back at Ryder. "Not that it isn't a total fucking blast," he adds and they share a post-sex grin.

"Aw, don't listen to him, Kyle. We never pressure anyone into doing anything. The pot-smokers even have their own room so that the rest of us don't get high off of their second-hand smoke. We're not morons; we just like a good time." He eyes me, leaning against the counter. "Besides, I'd like to get a chance to see you somewhere that doesn't require me being stuck behind a counter."

Why is it that everyone associated with Kenny seems to have some inhuman libido? I have never been undressed by someone's eyes so many times in my life. I can hardly say that I'm surprised; Kenny would have to be friends with people who would fuck anything with an orifice or else he would never get laid as much as he needs. But still…why must someone who has such a beautiful exterior have such a disgustingly perverse interior? It just isn't…me. I mean, I love sex just as much as every breathing human being, but not with someone I _just met_, my God. As romantically naïve as it sounds, I always thought of sex as something to be shared between two individuals in love. Never "just because."

So why is this all seeming so…_desirable _to me now?

No, Kyle. I mentally slap myself. None of that. Dating a rebound is one thing, but screwing them is on a whole different slutty level. I mean, it's so unlike me. And maybe it is that unfamiliar urge that is so intriguing to me; there's nothing more wanted than the unknown.

Besides, change is good, right? That's what I've always been told. I mean, I don't have to _do_ anything; just the fact that he wants me is a compliment enough. I mean, he's so NOT STAN that I can't help but be intrigued by him. Am I pathetic? Oh, there's no doubt. Do I care? Not particularly?

"So," he says, looking over at Kenny, "are you actually going to order this time?"

Kenny scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You think I'd actually eat this shit? I've already had the best-tasting thing in this store." Oh, God, too much information. I think I'd like to dig a hole in the ground right now and bury myself, thanks.

Ryder must have noticed my discomfort because he says, "C'mon Kenny, none of that TMI shit. I don't think you need to feed Kyle all that…personal information." I think I see a blush rushing into his cheeks, and, okay, it's totally adorable. _I can't help it, okay?_ I'm so defensive that I'm starting to think that I'm almost ashamed of being attracted to another guy.

I smile at him, running my fingers through my hair. "Nah, don't worry about it. Having been his friend for over ten years, I'm immune to pretty much anything that comes out of his mouth."

"Ten years?" His eyes widen as if that's the craziest thing he has ever heard. "I guess that's how you've resisted him, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that," I reply with a chuckle. "I look at him now, and I still see that adorable little boy in the orange hoodie." My mouth curves down in an overly-exaggerated grimace. "That's _so_ not my style."

"Well, maybe I'd like to learn what your style is," he says, combing his long, graceful fingers through his hair. "Do you have a phone number, Mr. Kyle?"

"Hmm." I tap my pointer finger on my chin one, two, three times before responding: "I believe I just might." He slaps down a napkin and pulls out a pen. Wow, he was just ready and waiting to strike. I glide up to the counter, calm, cool, and collected, then print my number on the small, white napkin. At the bottom, I write out KYLE in my neatest handwriting and, after a moment's pause, I add "(the guy with the amazing ass)" underneath my name. I'm so clever. And pathetic. I know I say it a lot, but I am; I'm totally pathetic.

He looks at the paper, grins, then folds the paper, sticking it into his back pocket. "Be expecting a call sometime tonight," he says.

I grin, nodding. "Yeah okay," my mouth babbles out, as Kenny's hand grabs my forearm and pulls me toward the exit. "Bye!"

"Bye," Ryder replies with a chuckle and a half-wave, as my giggly body is practically pulled from the shop.

Kenny bursts into laughter once the door closes, pushing me. "You're _such_ a little prude, my friend. Not that it's not sexy as hell, but dear lord, let's take it down a notch."

I shrug, smiling. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you don't!" Kenny interrupts, amidst a sea of giggles. "You think I didn't see the way you two were eye-fucking each other in there? That I'm somehow blind to stuff like that? Are you forgetting who you're talking to, Kyle dear?" He extends his arms and cocks an eyebrow. "But seriously," he says, lowering his arms as we begin our trek toward my house, "you're not really gonna go to the party with me, are you?"

"Kenny," I sigh, feeling a pang of offense at his words, "why can't I? Because I'm the 'good one'? Yeah, a lot of good that's had in my life. My parents are never satisfied, the guy I love leaves me…being the good one, let me tell you – it's a fucking carnival." I exhale loudly, looking at him with pleading eyes. "I just…I want to get to know this guy, Kenny. Sure, it's probably going to be meaningless and stupid and useless, but…I'll never get over Stan if I don't at least _try_, you know?"

Kenny grunts, looking away from my gaze. "Don't even try you're 'oh I'm so adorable and helpless' spiel, Kyle; I've heard it all before."

"I thought you loved me," I say, jutting out my bottom lip pathetically.

"Kyle! Dammit." He rolls his eyes, returning his eyes to mine. "Fine. Fine, you can come. But I'm just going to say this: if you get drunk and high and end up fucking everything in sight, don't blame me, okay? I'll feel like shit if it happens and you get hurt. _Please_ promise you won't blame me and make me feel worse."

"Jesus you're really serious about this, aren't you?" I ask, surprised at his suddenly caring attitude. It's so very unlike him, and yet, it's completely in character. I always seem to underestimate the guy; he's so two-dimensional at first glance, but…there's always that extra dimension that appears at the least likely times. He's full of surprises, Kenny is.

"Of course I am. Kyle, you _know_ me. Imagine twenty of me, okay? Same sex-drive, same addictive personality, same _everything_. It's what we do. These are alcoholic, drugged-up nymphomaniacs, Kyle. Ryder, yeah, he's a good guy and gorgeous face, but if you get too much alcohol in him, he's, he's different, okay? And I'm talking from experience. He'll get you to drink, too. I've seen him. And when he wants sex, he gets it. And with the way he was looking at you, he was wanting it pretty badly."

I am silent for a moment, and then, with my eyes cast at the pavement, I mutter, "Maybe I want it, too."

"What?"

"Nothing. Don't worry, Kenny. I wouldn't come if I didn't know the risks. If something happens, it's all on me. I'd never blame you for my acting like a dumbass, never." I smile at him.

He smiles back, to my relief. "All right, Kyle. I'll trust you on that. But just because it's you." He reaches an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, fingers tousling my hair as we exchange an awkward hug. "Just…if you want to be with him, stay with him. Not all of my acquaintances are as good as him."

"No problem. I doubt any of them are half of sexy as he is."

"You got that right. Except for me, of course."

"Well, obviously."

"And you."

"Again, obviously."

He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls out another cigarette. "You're starting to really grow some balls, Kyle. I'm proud of you."

Honestly, I'm proud of myself as well. I want this opportunity to live in the moment, a chance to live for myself…to do what _I_ want to do. It's not such a crime; kids all over the world are doing the same as I am. Sure, maybe they're not as gay as I am, but I'm sure a good percentage are.

Butterflies flutter their wings against my insides, causing chill bumps to pop up on my arms and neck. Anticipation, it's killing me. But it will be worth the wait, I think.

* * *

I slip on a white collared shirt, quivering fingers somehow managing to button each button with hardly any trouble. I breathe in deeply, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Hair? Yup, looks good. Thanks mainly to Kenny, who's currently downstairs, most likely stuffing his face with my mother's cooking. My parents like Kenny, surprisingly; it's all pity, however…they feel terrible, just _terrible, _that Kenny was born into such a horrid environment. Plus he always acts like a complete angel in front of adults, and my parents are naïve enough to believe me when I say that all the rumors that fly around about him are untrue: "People just make stuff up about him because he's poor." Hey, as long as they believe me, no harm, no foul. Right?

I smile at my reflection, satisfied. I make my way downstairs, listening to Kenny's voice talk about how he's "setting me up with this really nice girl. She's gorgeous, smart…just like Kyle," he adds as I enter the kitchen, looking over and flashing his award-winning grin at me. My mother laughs proudly, nodding in agreement.

"Will I be meeting this lovely lady?" she asks, looking at me.

My heart skips a beat and I simply shrug. "No idea," I reply. "I just got blindsided with it. All I know is that she's 'really, really pretty.'" My fingers form quotes around my last three words.

"If it works out," she says, giving me a look, "I _will_ be meeting her, correct?"

"Of course!" Kenny interjects. "Kyle always says how important your opinion is."

I smile to myself, enjoying his particular wording of his statement. I nod for emphasis. "Well that's good, booby." She smoothes out my hair then cups my face in her hands. "I'm so happy that you're finally giving a girl a chance. I've been worried that you've been sad and lonely."

Over my mom's shoulder, I see Kenny struggle to hold back laughter. Asshole. "I'm glad, too. I think it's time I start to…grow up, you know."

She smiles at me and for a moment I'm slightly ashamed that I, a seventeen year old boy, am still shorter than my mother, if only by an inch or so. "So you're going out with…Stan and Wendy and this girl, right?"

I nod. "Well, that's if Stan and Wendy show up…you know how they can get." I honestly don't even know what I'm referring to, but my mother nods in agreement nonetheless. "Then we'll be staying over at Kenny's."

"Yeah, my parents are out somewhere, so there's plenty of room," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. We share a knowing look for a moment until he turns away. "I'm going to go outside and wait for my date. She'll probably get lost if I don't wave her in." He smiles at my mom. "Thanks for the dinner, Sheila."

"Anytime, hon." She and I watch him as he exits our house, then she turns back to me. "Promise you'll be safe, Kyle." I promise and she kisses me on the cheek. "You're such a handsome boy. You're going to make someone very happy one day."

"Thanks, Mom," I say, enjoying her lack of gender in that declaration. "I'll see you tomorrow." She tosses me a wave and I exit the house, walking over to where Kenny is standing on my driveway.

He looks over at me, giving me a wise ass grin. "You're an artist, Kyle. I can't believe you were able to lie to your _mother_ like that. I had a feeling in my gut that you'd wuss out on me at that part. You're just surprising me right and left these days."

Yeah, I'm surprising _me _right and left these days, too. "So who's this girl of yours that's driving us?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Her name's Kandy…with a 'K'."

"Sounds like a stripper."

"You'd be right."

"Explain to me how _you_, a minor, are able to get into a strip club."

He sighs. "Kyle, darling, when you've screwed the majority of the chicks in a strip club, people let you in."

"Ah, of course. How silly of me to even ask." I grin at him. "So I take it she's hot?"

A smile crosses his lips. "Oh yeah. She's one girl I can't get myself to forget about…you know the type. One of those girls that you just _enjoy_ being around, not just the fucking, either. I'm talking about…enjoying her company."

"Sounds like a crush to me."

"Ha! Are you forgetting who I am, Kyle Broflovski? I'm Kenny-fucking-McCormick. I don't get crushes or fall in love or any of that feelings shit. No, she's just cool. Like a buddy. A fuck-buddy. And she's really hot. I can't see how this has any disadvantages."

"All right, not a crush." It's kind of refreshing to hear that Kenny's got a thing – even if he refuses to admit it – for another person. Maybe there's hope for him, still. Maybe he _won't _grow up to be one of those old guys who spends all of their time hitting on younger girls, sometimes successfully, other times being shot down because, let's face it, they're fifty years old and have nothing to show for it.

A horn honks. A slightly-rusted Camero pulls up into my driveway. In the driver's seat sits a real-life Barbie doll. Long, gorgeous blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, flawless skin, breasts that I can only guess are not God-given…yes, a real-life Barbie doll, complete with plastic and a hot pink outfit. "Climb on in," she says and I'm momentarily shocked at her deep voice. A smoker's voice, should I say. Not disgustingly so…but enough to let you know she's been buying packs for a good decade or so.

"Hey babe," Kenny says, opening the passenger-side door. "C'mon, Kyle." He pulls up the seat to allow me into the back. I climb in, smiling at the driver. "Kandy, this is Kyle," Kenny says as he sits down in the passenger seat, "Kyle, Kandy."

"Hi cutie, how are you?" she asks, her surprisingly white teeth shining past her pink lips.

"I'm good, how are you? Wow, you're just as gorgeous as Kenny said."

She laughs. "Well I'm glad to hear that not talking shit about me like he does about other girls." She and Kenny exchange a look that can only be left up to interpretation. My interpretation: I so have the hots for you. But I wouldn't tell Kenny that.

I fiddle with my fingers, feeling my rapid heartbeat slapping against my ribs. Ryder called me the other night, just as he promised he would. After becoming almost impervious to Stan's constant lies, seeing that Ryder kept his promise was a complete shock.

We talked for hours, mostly about nothing. He asked about Stan and I told him the entire story. He said that he'd try his best to take my mind off of Stan, and it was a great thing to hear. I confessed that I was worried that he'd be just a rebound, and he seemed fine with it. "If that's what you need, I'll be glad to be here for you…who knows, maybe this is just a chance you have to take."

I don't know if he was just feeding me his usual spiel of bullshit, but, to be perfectly honest, I don't really care. It made me feel good, special…worthwhile. I haven't felt that way in a while. I thought I'd never be blessed with that feeling again, frankly.

He told me that Stan didn't deserve me, that he was a fucking dumbass for letting me go. Ryder is a pretty good guy, for being so close to Kenny (not that that's a bad thing…I just know how Kenny can get around people who party). He's different. Not Stan. It's nice.

"So you're talking to Ryder, are you?" Kandy says, tossing me a glance from the driver's seat. "That's a good choice, Kyle. He's one of the best ones."

"Exactly what I said," Kenny says, grinning at her. She smiles, flipping her blonde hair playfully. "We've got a goddamn psychic connection, I'm telling you." A blush coloring her tanned cheeks, she reaches over and tousles his hair. They're a cute couple, I'll admit. I mean, a cute _not_-couple.

It takes about an hour for us to reach the party, but when we do, I know it right away. It's the only house on the block with any lights on. Seems like the neighbors know the party schedule and find that it's easier to just leave for the night rather than make a fuss about it.

"We're here!" Kandy exclaims, parking on the side of the road, behind a sea of vehicles. She turns off the ignition, then flips down the visor, checking her makeup in the mirror.

Kenny flips the visor up, looking at her. "You're fucking hot, don't change anything." She grins at him, nodding. "Come on, Kyle. You ready?"

Am I ready? I don't know. I think I'm ready. But what the hell do I know, really? Oh God…am I really going through with this? I remove my cell phone from my pocket and lay it on the seat; no way in hell I'm going to risk losing it or breaking it. Too much explaining will be necessary if I do, and frankly I'm just not that up to it.

Apparently so, as Kenny, Kandy, and I enter the front door to the party, before I even realize it. Music is blasting, coolers of beer and assorted alcohol are scattered about the room. There's a very distinct odor of liquor, sweat, and…what's that last one? Oh, right…sex.

"I see Ryder," Kenny whispers in my ear. "Over on the couch." I glance around the room, finding the couch he was referring to. Lo and behold, there he sits, looking even more amazing than I remembered. His gaze meets mine, and a look of happiness springs to his face. He waves me over, looking pretty damn excited, I must say. That, or he's already completely shitfaced. Whatever.

I plop down on the couch beside me. "Hey," I say, running a hand through my hair. "How's it going?"

"It's amazing…now." He smiles at me, moving closer. He reaches over to the coffee table in front of us, grabbing a Coors Lite. He takes a quick swig, then says, "You don't want one, right?"

I pause. "Well…I, erm…" My mind is fluttering, choosing each option and playing the consequences in my mind as quickly as I can. "Sure, why not. I mean, I'm here to have fun; why not try new things?"

"That's a good perspective to have," he says, handing me a fresh bottle, popping the top off for me. I inhale deeply, then take my first swig. I wince inwardly, not particularly enjoying the first initial taste. But as I continue to sip, I notice my swigs getting bigger, the taste becoming less sordid, and suddenly the bottle is empty. I don't even feel a little bit of a buzz; what's everyone always talking about?

Ryder laughs. "Liked it more than you thought you would, huh?"

I laugh in return, nodding. "Yeah, it's not bad."

"It's the only beer I like. All the rest taste like shit, in my opinion. Want another, or is that all for you?"

I begin to pause, then push all opposing thoughts out of my head. "Yeah, I will, actually." Another beer, top popped off, and suddenly, that one is empty, too.

Thirteen bottles later – six for me, seven for him - and I'm definitely way past having a buzz. I feel dizzy, and everything he's saying is causing an eruption of laughter from my belly. "You have a sexy laugh," he slurs, running his fingers through my hair. "And your hair – fuck it's to _die_ for." He leans in close, nipping and licking at my neck. Ecstasy surges through my bloodstream, heating up my face and causing my pants to tighten.

"You taste like vanilla," he groans, biting at my earlobe. "Do you know what I want to do to you?" I open my eyes to look at him, and his brown eyes have morphed into a breathtaking blue, his straw-colored hair has melted into a black hue, and I swear to God I'm staring into Stan's stunning face. I blink, breathing heavily.

"Tell me." His previously-baby soft hands have roughened – calluses from tossing around the football so often. He trails a digit down my face, leaving a shadow of static electricity everywhere he touches. He leans in toward me, devouring my lips beneath his. He even _tastes_ like Stan now.

"I want to," he pants, his lips still mere millimeters from my own, "take you…into that room…and I want to…" He grabs the sides of my face, rougher than usual, and smashes his mouth against mine. It's so unlike him that I can't help but kiss back. He pushes me onto my back, climbing on top of me. His hardening erection is pressing against mine and God I can't even remember who he was before he morphed into the charcoal-haired god that I know so well.

I don't even give a shit who he looked like previously; he's Stan now – and that's all I fucking care about.

His skilled fingers somehow fumble over the buttons on my shirt. He grunts in annoyance, frowning so severely that I almost can tell it's not Stan's athletic legs that are currently straddling my body. "Fuck it," he says after a few more seconds, tearing the fabric open, allowing the cool air to smack against my skin. I hiss; not in pain, but in unbelievable pleasure. Who knew the elements could be such a powerful aphrodisiac?

He kisses down my neck, down my chest. He pulls up, looking at me. "C'mon, to the back room. I can't get hard with all of these ugly shits in the room," he says, paying no mind to the people near us. He grabs me by the hand, dragging me into the back room.

Turns out, said back room is nothing more than a bathroom. Or maybe he was saying bathroom, not back room. Either way, I'm so fucking drunk it doesn't even really register. He pulls off his clothes while I somehow manage to get the tattered remains of my shirt off, followed by my pants. He picks me up, his biceps and forearms bulging sexily as he does so. He practically throws me onto the counter, causing my back to _thump_ harshly against the mirror. My blurred vision falls upon the ticking clock on the wall. _9:12_, it tells me. I'm surprised I can even read it.

"Come 'ere," he says, the slur becoming even more obvious. I climb off of the counter, wondering for a split second why he chose to toss me up there, then I'm shoved onto my knees, doing something I have never done before in my life, and it is fantastic. He's moaning so much louder than usual and it's even more arousing than anything I've ever heard. I attempt to say, _I love you_, but it's so mumbled and unintelligible that all that results is a hand falling onto my head, pulling at my hair.

He pulls me up, spinning me around so that my upper body is lying atop the freezing counter. I stare at my own reflection as he rolls on a condom, and then enters me and the room becomes dark as my eyelids slam shut. In a matter of seconds, I'm pouring out sweat. "Oh, God, I missed this," I mumble.

"Yeah. I knew the moment I saw you I wanted this," he says and alarms go off in my head. _Not Stan, oh shit, this isn't Stan!_ My eyes fly open and all I see in the mirror is that ice cream employee with the sandy blonde hair and I look down into my own horrified eyes. They're bloodshot. A bead of sweat falls from my bangs and plops onto the counter. I don't even recognize myself.

_That guy_ is still moaning, his eyes shut and his head thrown back, as my body rocks along with him. Tears fill my eyes as his fingers dig into my skin, but it's not the pain that's drawing the moisture to my eyes. I want Stan. And nothing will ever be right without him.

_He doesn't want you. He's fucking his girlfriend. Not you. He loves her. Not you. Not you._

_Not you…!!_

I watch as my own eyes darken in an anger I have never seen before and I stand upright, turning back to _that guy_ as I throw myself against him, pulling the two of us onto the floor. He's on top of me, my legs wrapped around him as I feel no pleasure, but I feel _vengeful_. And that in itself is enough for me to respond so violently and actively that I think I'm going to wear _him_ out first.

I lost myself, I think, after that moment.

Minutes quickly become hours. Every time I look up at that damned clock on the wall, it seems like the hands have switched their roles – that minute hand _must_ be the second hand, and the hour hand, well, it _must_ have become the minute hand. It's the only reasonable explanation.

He never tires. And neither do I. Then again, it's hard to come when you're not really turned on. His eyes are clamped shut and his hands are grabbing at me so desperately that I actually feel bad that I can't feel a damn thing. I don't even take the time to toss in any fake moans; he's so drunk that I doubt he gives a shit. My buzz, on the other hand, has completely evaporated. It makes this whole experience so much more horrifying.

Our bodies rock with each other, matching beads of sweat oozing down our chests. My vision blurs; I try to make Stan's face re-appear, but there's nothing. No matter how hard I try, this blonde-haired guy will never reshape himself into the boy with whom I am so deeply in love. "You're incredible," he gasps into my ear, his fingers twisting into my hair.

I don't reply. What is there, really, to say? _So were you, until I realized that you're not the guy I thought you were_. He doesn't care if I say anything. He got what he wanted; and I thought I had, too. But all this has done is make me realize…there's only one person in this whole world that I want.

They say that every person has that one other person who's made just for them. I found mine…but how is it fair that that same guy doesn't have the courage to love me back? Do I just…miss out? Or am I just supposed to settle, like this, every single night for the rest of my life, as I slowly pine for Stan in my subconscious at every second, until I die from a battered and broken heart?

If so, what's the point of coming out? What's the point of disappointing my parents and becoming hated by my classmates? If I'm doomed to never be happy, I might as well just stay in hiding, forever.

Tears well up in my eyes as his fingers continue to dig into my auburn curls, tugging roughly, but not roughly enough to actually hurt me. I miss Stan. I want Stan. And, Jesus, I love Stan. I really, really fucking love him.

Finally, I see his eyelids fall shut, and he passes out on the bathroom floor. His limp body is lying almost elegantly on the cool tile, a tiny trail of saliva slithering from the corner of his battered lips. I get dressed and leave the bathroom, pushing past all the drunk and/or buzzed people to get to the front door. I catch a glimpse of Kenny as I leave – his mouth is pressed against Kandy's chest, the skirt of her hot pink dress hiked up so far that I think it's actually around her abdomen now. Her shapely legs are wrapped around his waist and his pants are bunched up around his ankles. There's not much mystery in what they're doing. They open their eyes too look at each other and the passion actually burns into _my_ eyes. I predict they'll be dating steadily in less than a year.

Sighing, tears slipping down my face, I turn and leave the house, walking down the street. Small beads of rain patter down upon my disgusting, used hair, intertwining with my tears and hanging onto my face for dear life. It's a dismal thing. Hopeless, almost.

The roads are unfamiliar. I wasn't paying attention to where we were going, and now I regret that I didn't. Maybe there's a bus stop somewhere nearby. Honestly, I don't even care at this point. I don't know who I am anymore. I hug my arms against my body, feeling my heart racing laps inside of my chest. How did I manage, within a mere few hours, to become the very person I used to despise? How…?

My body quakes at the memory of my actions; that anger I felt, the way I fucked that guy – that guy I don't even _know_, for God's sake! – and my eyes, staring into my own _crazed eyes_. My stomach lurches, and I double over, clenching my eyes shut as the booze erupts from my mouth. "Ugh, sick," I mutter, dragging the back of my hand over my lips.

My head is killing me. Hell, my whole body is aching, pulsating with each step I take. I stumble, then fall to my knees beside a large bush. I take my head in my hands, futilely attempting to press the pain from my skull. "Uhh _fuck!"_ I grunt. "Fuck you, Stan," I curse at the ground, letting a large amount of mucus and spit and partially-digested alcohol fall from my mouth. "_Fuck you!"_

It's all _his_ fault, every bit of it. How the fuck does he think I'm going to live without him? Not just as a lover, but as a friend? Fucking piece of shit Stan, thinking only about himself and his bullshit reputation than about me. Like always. It was always about _him_, never me.

So why am I so surprised now?

It was all nothing more than a screw, to him.

Love? Ha, not hardly. Love is not something that can be left just like that. Love is something you try to hold on to, not give up willingly without even a fight.

But what do I know about that? For all I know, our love was never love. Just a crush, perhaps. A silly, middle school crush. Pathetic. Just so pathetic. Just like me.

Tears erupt from my eyes, my body shaking with every sob.

I feel so fucking _dirty_. So _used_. Even though I was the one who kept it going, _wanted_ to keep it going, even, I feel used, broken. I can't believe myself. I just…fucked some guy, and for what? Because I wanted to get laid? No, not just that…but because my damn drunken stupor made me believe I had Stan back.

Pathetic. No, even worse. Just plain fucking stupid.

I look up at the dark sky – the rain has finally let up, and the stars are starting to wiggle their way back into view. Gorgeous, really. If you appreciate that kind of stuff. I used to. Now? Heh, what's beauty, anyway?

I climb up off of my knees, inhaling deeply. My chest gives one last hiccupping lurch, and then settled. "Shit," I mutter, realizing I have a good hour to two hour walk ahead of me. And that's figuring I don't get mugged or anything. I sigh, stopping dead in my tracks. What's the point? I turn around and slump over to Kandy's Camero, opening the passenger-side door and sliding into the back seat.

I lie on my side, facing the back of the bench. My face nuzzles into the musty leather and I squeeze my eyes closed. I hug my sickened legs to my chest. How did this all happen to me? Just hours earlier, I was sitting right here in this seat, happy, excited…and now…

Tears ooze out of the corners of my eyes. Stan, damn you…you manage to become everything around me when I don't have you. All I want, all I _need_, is just to lay beside him in bed, cuddle up beside him in the morning, absorbing that sense of him just _being there_. That feeling where you know, without a fraction of a doubt, that that person is with _you_ and no one else…I'd give up everything to have that feeling again.

Melodramatic, yeah, it is. Sad part of it all is, it's exactly how I feel. You know you're in deep when your life feels like something smack dab out of a television show. Pathetic, Kyle. Just…pathetic.

My fingers wrap around the small object beside me. I flip open my cell phone, blurred vision hindering me in my quest. I open up my text messages inbox, and I type in the only number I care about enough to memorize. I punch in two words. Send.

_I'm sorry._

Why did I send it? Who knows. I don't expect him to respond. Read it? Sure. Care, respond, ever talk to me about it? Not hardly. Most people would ask why I'm apologizing; I guess I'm wondering that, myself.

I just did the thing I hate the most. I betrayed my love for someone by doing…that. It makes me a fucking hypocrite and I can't stand that shit. Maybe that's why I apologized. Or, then again, maybe I just wanted him to ask me why I apologized, just so I can tell him what happened and he'll get so jealous that he'll fight Ryder for my heart and, sun setting, hands held, we'll walk off into the distance together.

Ha, right. More realistically, maybe I just want him to know. I'm petty and horrible and I don't even fucking care that I'm being an asshole. I think it's _my_ turn to be an asshole. Not that I really want to be. But I deserve the opportunity.

Sleep is more than welcomed at this point. Next thing I know, Kenny and Kandy are back in the car (thank God Kandy "doesn't drink when she's the driver", or else I'd be totally screwed at this point), giggling and chatting and going on and on and on. I wonder in a passing, pitiable thought if they even noticed I was gone. It's unlikely.

I hear Kandy whispering, and my ear picks up my name, but nothing more. I keep my eyes closed. I don't really feel up to talking about, well, anything. Especially not Ryder. If anything, not him.

The car cranks and the motor bursts into life. It's as happy to be leaving this damn place as I am. The rain has started again, pattering down on the roof of the Camero happily, joyfully. I hear the squeaking of the windshield wipers as they lick up the blocking view of the water. Those two are still talking. I crack an eye open and turn my head slightly toward them. Her hand is lying atop of his, a lone finger tracing itself over each knuckle. For two people who evidentially don't believe in love, they sure do seem taken by the other.

But maybe that's just my imagination. From a psychological standpoint, it makes sense. Creating love between two people since _I_ don't have love? It's grade-school psych stuff. Well, if they _had_ psychology in grade school, of course.

I turn my face back to the back of the bench. I stare at the fabric until my eyes begin to ache. I close them, focusing on the noises around me rather than my own inner turmoil. Kandy and Kenny are finally talking loudly enough for me to hear them; they've assumed I'm either dead asleep or completely passed out, I assume.

"Think he had fun with Ryder?" Kandy asked, and I can hear the perfect smile in her voice. "I noticed them getting pretty chummy. Well, before you stuck your hand up my shirt I noticed it." She laughs softly.

"Yeah, they were." Kenny says, but I detect no smile in his voice. I hear a clicking noise, then the smell of smoke and nicotine fills my nostrils.

"What's wrong? You're being all…weird."

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing. It's just…I'm still not sure if Kyle coming was a good thing. Sure, he met a nice enough guy and they seemed to hit it off, but…" His voice trails off.

"But what? Is there something wrong with him coming to a party? He seemed real excited."

"Yeah. It's not that. I just…I love Kyle, you know that. Not _that_ way, of course. He's always been like my little brother, even though he's older than me. I care about the guy. And Ryder, yeah I like him too – yeah, in _that_ way – but him and Kyle? All Ryder cares about is fucking. Kyle needs something better than that." There's a pause, and I feel my cheeks burning.

"I told you he's in love with someone else, yeah?" There's silence that I can only interpret as Kandy nodding. "He still is. Probably always will be. I don't blame him, really. I've known the two of them as far back as I can remember and they really do fit. Too bad Stan's a fucking douchebag."

"Think he – Stan, I mean – will ever come back to Kyle?" Kandy's voice holds a certain pitch of caring, yet indifference.

"Dunno. I hope so. Seeing those two bastards apart from each other, it just sucks." Another pause. I hate being talked about. My stomach is doing flip-flops and roundhouse kicks and it's all I can do to keep myself from vomiting.

"Stan really loves him." My breath gets caught in my throat, frozen. "I talked to him Stan the other day and all he could do was ask about Kyle. I shouldn't have done it, but…I told Stan about Ryder." Air is trying with a heated passion to escape the dungeon of my throat, but the blockage won't give. What? He did…he did _what?_

"What? Why?" Kandy asks, sounding almost as surprised as I do. Seems like Kenny's told her plenty about me and my troubles.

"I wish I knew." He chuckles, sounding embarrassed. "I just…couldn't help it. I was pissed off. Stan's an idiot, and he needs to know that he's losing Kyle. I think of it as a kick in the ass. But I mean, he asked me how Kyle was doing and before I knew it, the words, 'Oh well, he's going out with this guy, Ryder, this weekend' were out of my mouth." He laughs that laugh again. "I feel like an asshole."

"Well, you kind of should. But what did he say?" Yeah. What _did_ he say?

"Just, 'oh.' That's it. But you should've seen his face, Kandy. It was like I dropped a bomb on him. I don't think he ever expected Kyle to…but why shouldn't he have? Kyle's hot. It was only a matter of time before other guys started noticing him."

"That's true." Pause. "I think it'll all work out."

"Yeah. Me too. I hope it does, anyway. I can't take much more of this closeted bullshit, to be honest." She laughs and I hear a _smack_ as they kiss. "Tonight was pretty great though," he said, his voice low, but not too low.

I tuned out after that. I don't need to hear how _amazing_ their sex was. I've dealt enough with that topic tonight to last me a lifetime. I still feel so _dirty_. On the inside. I feel like I've completely betrayed Stan. Sure, we're not dating, or anything even remotely close anymore. But I still have such a deep-rooted commitment for him that…I just never want to do wrong by him.

I nuzzle my face into the seat's fabric, letting it absorb the tears before they have a chance to escape my eyes. _Stan really loves him_. The words resound throughout my mind. It's true, I know it is. I've never doubted _that_ for a second.

Who knows? Maybe Kenny's interference _will_ give Stan the push toward acceptance. Even if not…well, I guess I'll be all right. Okay, I won't. Why lie to myself? But my attempts, they're done. I can't spend my life chasing after someone like that.

All I know is: no more parties for me.

By the time we pull up to Kenny's house, I'm already nodding off. Kenny shakes me and my eyes pop open. "Get up, Ky." He pokes me in the ribs and I shoot upright. He laughs.

"Dammit, Kenny…you know I hate that." I'm smiling, though. I climb out of the car and Kenny glances down at my bare chest. I hold up my hands defensively. "Don't ask."

"Wasn't going to," he says, but his eyes suggest otherwise. I know that curious look in his eye. He wants _details_. But, this time, he's not getting any. Not tonight, at least.

Kenny and Kandy kiss each other goodnight, and he and I enter his home. It's just as run-down as it's always been. But it's quiet. Having the house to ourselves is always nice. No screaming, no pungent odor of scotch and beer (okay, there's _still_ an odor, but not nearly as strong). I know Kenny prefers it this way, too.

We collapse on his bed and he shuts off his light. I'm almost asleep when I hear his voice whisper, "You okay, Kyle?"

"Yeah," I reply.

"…did you fuck him?"

I wince in the darkness. "Yeah, I did."

There's a silence. "Are you all right with that?"

I wait a moment, thinking it over…not that there's a lot to think over. "No."

I feel him nod. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything. It was all me. And that's why it's not all right."

"You heard us talking in the car, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did."

"I had a feeling. It's okay though, everything I said was true. I didn't mean to tell him, I really didn't. But goddammit, Kyle, I just wanted to _hurt_ him, you know? He needs that kick in the ass."

I chuckle softly. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'm not mad. I almost want him to know, really."

"Okay. Good." He pauses, and I feel him roll over on his side. "You two will be fucking again before you know it. Don't worry."

I laugh, louder this time. "Thanks Kenny." I lie in the silence for a few moments before asking a question that had been on my mind all night: "So, are you and Kandy, you know…in love?"

The only reply is silence. I can only assume that Kenny is pretending to be asleep. God forbid he answer _that_ question. I smile, and roll on my side, facing away from the form beside me. I close my eyes and, for a split second, feel a shot of excitement at seeing Stan's face come Monday morning.

_To Be Continued..._


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer – I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note – Another long wait (though not nearly as long as before, haha). I'm so sorry. I have no excuses other than the fact that I kind of wrote myself into a corner with that last chapter. I can't tell you how many pages I wrote and then deleted in these past couple months. Nothing worked. Until I decided to write this chapter from Kenny's point of view.

Yup, this chapter is narrated by Kenny – I think it'll be the only chapter done this way, unless something happens to my psyche and I am forced to use him once again. So, hopefully this chapter flows just as the others did. And I hope there's no confusion. If you skipped this author's note and are suddenly wondering why Kyle is obsessed with sex and tits, well, this would be why. :) I hold no grudge against myself for that.

Thanks so much to all my dedicated readers – and new readers. I appreciate and read every review. It really kept me going, I promise you that.

Okay, enough from me. Onward. ^_^

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Doublethink means the power of  
holding two contradictory beliefs in  
one's mind simultaneously, and  
accepting both of them.  
-George Orwell

He fought because he actually  
felt safer fighting than running.  
-Richard Adams, _Watership Down_

With a secret like that, at some point  
the secret itself becomes irrelevant.  
The fact that you kept it does not.  
-Sara Gruen, _Water For Elephants_

I've made a huge mistake.  
-Will Arnett (as "Gob Bluth"): _"Arrested Development"_

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

There's something so fucking _weird_ about finding out your two best friends are screwing. Of course, when you've known them as long as I've known Kyle and Stan you'd think I would've had some clue, but I hadn't, really. Then again, that might have been because I was half convinced Kyle was asexual; poor thing, no action until he was seventeen. I'd been giving head for almost a decade at that point. Kids these days, such prudes. Well, except for girls; they're total whores nowadays.

Maybe that's why I'm so protective over the guy – Kyle, I mean. I've always seen myself as the older one in the group, since I hit maturity so fast.

And now he's fucking himself over by falling in love with Stan. Not that I can blame him, Stan's a major catch in more ways than one, but he had to choose someone who's so closeted, so fucking obsessed with how the world sees him…that he'll never come out.

See, that's the good thing about being me. I never had to come out and say that I like guys, too. People can just look at me and think, "Yeah, that guy can get _anyone_." And that's not me being conceited; it's my thing. It's the only thing I'm good at, and, years ago, I said, fuck it, and accepted it.

I think I made things worse by introducing Kyle to Ryder. I just never fucking _imagined_ that Kyle would fuck him (I can't lie and say I'm not proud of him though). The temptation to tell Stan has been killing me since I found out. It's not to be spiteful either, and I don't want to hurt the poor asshole; I just think that it's the only way to pull his head out of his ass. Jealousy is an interesting thing. Not that I know from experience, because I don't. Not…not at all…

Sometimes I wonder how a guy – or anyone, for God's sake – could possibly be this obsessed with love…outside of a chick flick, of course. It's borderline fucking crazy to me. But then, that's why I've never had a true significant other; love, it's overrated. Just another one of those psychological _things_ that are shoved at you at birth. You're expected to be straight, you're expected to eventually have a child, and you're expected to fall in love.

Me? I've broken all three of these anticipated pieces of shit qualities. Kyle's broken one already, and Stan's theoretically broken none, as far as everyone else is concerned.

I have no idea what Kyle's going to do. School starts in half an hour and I've been watching him pace in front of me for about five minutes without saying a word. If I didn't have my cigarettes, I'd knock his ass to the ground.

"Kyle, sit down for fuck's sake. You're making me all jumpy," I say, taking a long drag on my cigarette. He looks at me, and, obviously, he didn't hear a word I just said. "Sit down," I say again, waving at the seat beside me on the bench.

He plops down beside me, sighing. "I'm sorry, Kenny; I'm just so nervous. I don't know what I'm gonna do…"

"Why do you have to do anything? I mean, shit, you're not dating Stan; he basically said he wanted nothing to do with you. I don't get it."

"Because!" he snaps and I raise an eyebrow. "Because I sent him a text saying, 'I'm sorry,' and he replied yesterday morning saying…well, look!"

He whips out his cell phone and shoves the screen in my face.

**From: **Stan

Y??

Sat, Nov 17, 9:34 am

"Wow, that's intense. No wonder you're freaking out," I say sarcastically. I try to be sympathetic toward Kyle, I really do. But Jesus H. Christ he knows how to overreact.

"Okay, I know that it seems innocent, but I mean…the emphasis on the extra question mark, you can't tell me that wasn't intentional. It's not like typing – you have to actually _work_ to add an extra -"

"Yeah, I know that. It's fascinating; he _must_ know that you fucked that guy – the extra question mark proves it!" I stamp out my cigarette. I could use another one already, but I also don't want to smell like smoke in school; it's a turn off to the majority of girls at this school.

I glance over at Kyle; he looks so crushed. Great, now I'm the asshole hurting him. I sigh, then wrap my arm around his shoulders. "Listen, Kyle, if you want, I'll talk to Stan, see what he's thinking, what he knows, all that shit." I obviously leave off the part where I've been dying to gossip to Stan about this.

"Really?" He flashes his eyes at me, looking so grateful. Then he raises an eyebrow. "Wait, what are you gonna tell him…?"

I stand, looking down at him, a smile upon my face. "Do you wanna know? Or do you just want me to take care of it?" He stares at me for a moment, then shrugs.

"All right, all right. It's probably best if I don't know. He doesn't want to talk to me, and I really don't want to be the one to tell him anything that…that happened." He rubs at his forehead, looking far more stressed out than he should be. "By the way," he adds, "what is Ryder's deal? He keeps on texting me and calling me. I don't wanna talk to him; can you make him just leave me the hell alone?"

I nod. "Yeah, sure. He's probably just trying to make sure you're okay or something." Hopefully. Ryder seemed pretty normal after our fling. But then, I'm me: one night stands and meaningless shit is who I am. Everyone knows that. Kyle, on the other hand, reeks of commitment and romance. Mental note: see Ryder after school.

The bell rings. "C'mon Kyle. Let's get to class, and stop worrying so much. I'll take care of everything." He rises from the bench, nodding gratefully. As we walk into the school, I catch the eye of Stan. He looks at me, glances down at Kyle, then looks back at me. I flash him a grin and a half-shrug. He glares back. Always the master of the last word (or gesture, in this case), I toss him a wink before disappearing into my homeroom. I collapse at my desk, beside Bebe.

"Hey Bebe," I say smoothly. "How's life for you?"

She smiles, tossing her blonde hair. Such a pathetic move – especially since she and I have already fucked – but an endearing one nonetheless. "Pretty good, pretty good. Getting a little tired of the drama, I'll tell you that."

"Heh, tell me about it," I mumble, resting my feet on the chair in front of me. "What's your drama?"

She gives a disgusted noise, rolling her eyes. "This Stan and Wendy bullshit. I know I'm Wendy's best friend – I love the girl, obviously – but Jesus, if I have to hear her one more time: 'Oh, Stan's not putting out anymore. Am I ugly? Does he hate me?' I'll kill her. She knows she the hottest shit in school; I don't get why she needs to be so mopey. If Stan's not the one, dump him and find someone else." Bebe sighs, fiddling with her hands. "I feel bad for her. She thinks he's the only one for her when, obviously, there's plenty out there."

I nod, chewing on the inside of my lip. Looks like Stan's progression into full-blown closet case is really in the works. I don't know how long he'll be able to keep up this charade. "Yeah, she'll be fine," I reply, absentmindedly. "Plenty to pick from."

"I'm sure you know all about that." She wrinkles her nose at me, smiling. I grin back, crumpling up a piece of paper and tossing it at her. She giggles, throwing it back.

"Hey," the teacher barks, and I give him a half-wave of consent. Bebe's giggles continue, silently.

"So, Kenny, you got some drama, too?" Should've known that was coming; Bebe's a bigger gossip whore than I am. And that's saying something.

"Don't we all?" I reply. After a moment's pause, I add, "Tried to set up a friend. Didn't work so well."

"Mm. Kyle?"

I chuckle. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, yeah...he's never had a girlfriend that I can remember. It'd do him some good to get out and have a little fun. Personally, I always thought he was a little jealous of Stan, because Stan's, you know, always had Wendy."

"I think you might be on to something."

"So, end badly or just…nothing at all?"

"Ended pretty badly, I think. But, like you said, at least he's getting out there, right?"

Bebe agrees, drumming her manicured fingers on the desk. "Maybe…maybe I should take him out, double date with Stan and Wendy. If he's starting to get out there, I personally would like a shot at him." She blushes softly. "I've always thought he was pretty hot."

"Tell me about it," I say and she laughs. "But," I toss in quickly, "I'm not sure about that. Talking to him…I think he's not…interested in dating girls from our school." I pause. "Um, you know…you guys have known each other forever. Kinda creepy."

She nods, another laugh. "True, true. Never stopped you though."

"Babe, nothing ever stops me." I raise an imaginary toast to her. The bell rings. I stand, give Bebe a "later", and then I follow the stampeding herds into the hallway. My first class is pre-calculus, and, since I maxed out my allowed amount of absences within, oh, the first month, it's not a class I can skip, unfortunately. Odds are I'll have to wait until lunchtime to talk to Stan. I don't know how I got involved with all of this, but it's pretty damn exciting…which I suppose is a cruel thing to say, considering how hurt the two are, but, c'mon, it's not _my_ fault. And I'm trying to help. I'm a savior of sorts.

Heh, a savior. Right.

I'm not naïve; I know people look at me and think I'm worthless white trash. That's fine by me – it has never been a concern of mine what people think of me. Because, odds are, they're all far more concerned with their own reputation to _really_ pay attention to the people around them. Somehow, even with my reputation of being poor and disgusting, I've gotten the status every guy would dream of: girls want me, and guys want to be me. Goes to show you how little reputation matters in the great scheme of things.

My sexuality has never been an issue. Anyone who came up to me, calling me a "fag" or some other pathetic name usually shut their mouth after I told them how great (or, in quite a few cases, lousy) their girlfriend or ex-girlfriend was in bed. I haven't been called names in a while.

There's more to me than sex, though. That's what people need to realize. I like other shit, too: art, hair (yes, I know, tee-hee stereotypes), and I'm pretty fucking great at singing. But this school bullshit? Not really for me. I don't like math or science or reading all too much. And unfortunately that's all colleges seem to care about. SAT scores and GPAs. I, unlike Stan, realized that college isn't for me, and I've accepted it.

Stan…that guy…I'll never understand him. My whole life, all I've seen is his desperate attempts to either get Wendy back or drive her away. It befuddles me. They've been together since they were, like, eight years old. That's nasty as hell to me (not that it would stop me from putting my moves on her. I'm only human). But I guess if you look at it that way, it's fucking nasty that Stan and Kyle are attracted to each other. But, it's not. It just makes sense, really. Pains me to say it, but those two assholes (pun intended) may be meant for one another.

I slump down further in my seat, watching with a frosted-over gaze as the teacher scribbles down some formula onto the chalkboard. I think about what Kyle asked me this past weekend. What he had asked about Kandy. About whether we were in love.

So naïve.

In all actuality, I've never connected with someone the way I do with her. She accepts me for me and hasn't tried to change me like so many girls and guys before her. She asks for nothing more than what I can give and she seems perfectly content with what we have. Is that love? Fuck no. But is she important to me? Definitely.

Plus, that body? Divine.

I think people like Kyle see love everywhere. God forbid someone comes along who wants nothing to do with it. Just because I'm human doesn't mean my ultimate purpose is to find someone to connect with and spend eternity with. I get bored easily. I like new things. Is that such a crime?

Eric Cartman pokes me in the back of the head with his pencil. I turn to look at him. Out of everyone, I'm the only one who could actually claim to "be friends with" Eric. Sure, he's irritating and loud and disgusting. But once you get past all of that, he's hilarious to hang with. Always inventive, never boring. Maybe that's why we get along so well. He's always coming up with new shit to try and I'm always on the lookout for something fresh and contemporary. Not to mention I'm the only one who calls him by his first name, except for his mother. I think that says a lot right there.

"What?" I whisper.

"Going to the arcade tonight?" he asks, looking carefully at the teacher's back.

"Maybe. Don't have much cash on me." He snorts. "But yeah, why not. You better buy me a round of foosball there, tubby."

He frowns at me, looking hurt. "That's not very nice, Kenny. Here I am, willing to lend you some money, like the fucking Pope or something, and you're making fun of my body." He half-grins.

"Like the Pope? What the fuck are you talking about?"

He raises an eyebrow, glancing from me to the professor's back, then back to me. "I think you know what I mean. I'll buy you that goddamn game, Kenny, and when I beat your ass, you'll have to find a way to pay me back."

"Heh, _you_ beat _me_? That's cute, Eric. You're just precious. We'll see how it ends up."

"Yeah, we will. Six o'clock?"

"Fine by me." He nods, then turns back down to his textbook. I face the front again, picking up my pencil and doing what I generally do during this class: doodle. I've got some fancy shit in this folder now. Nothing specific; I'm more of an abstract-art kind of guy. Shapes and patterns and textures. Looking at the _big picture_ instead of what is simple there in front of you. That's my kind of thing.

Tell anyone that, and I guarantee they'd never believe it.

Lunch time doesn't come quickly enough. As soon as the bell rings, I'm in the cafeteria. Usually this is the case, regardless of my gossip schedule. I like getting in there first – I'm a little paranoid about ending up with a small portion. Call it a phobia, an obsession, whatever. It's habitual, and, you know what? I always seem to end up with the biggest, hottest serving. Suck on that.

Tray in tow, I sit down at the Obvious Table. It's the fucked up table in the cafeteria – one leg is off kilter so it rocks really badly. People only sit here if they either want to be left alone or if there's someone they want to talk to privately. See, because it's obvious there's gossip going on if you sit there. Obvious Table. Our school is full of losers. Who comes up with that shit?

Nonetheless, I wave at Stan, signaling him over to me. He looks mildly surprised, then whispers something to Wendy. He rises with his tray and walks over to me. We both ignore the stares we're getting; I know everyone's trying to figure out what the fuck we're talking about.

"Hey," he says, sitting down across from me. "The Obvious Table, huh?" He chuckles. "Nice, nice. I thought you said this was only for the dumbasses at the school."

"Yeah, well, people change," I say, taking a sip of chocolate milk. I give him a lopsided grin. "So, how are things with the missus? And when I say missus, I mean Wendy, not Kyle."

He frowns at me. "Don't start with that shit, dude. I've been really stressed out about all of it. I know it's all just hilarious and arousing to you, but I've lost my best friend here…and God I don't even know what's going on with him anymore."

"He's my friend, too, Stan," I remind him. "And you're not the one watching him be miserable. And God knows I'm pretty much on his side. That's not to say I don't love you, dude, but let's face it, you're being total chicken-shit."

He rolls his eyes. "If you're just gonna sit here and make me feel like shit, I'm not gonna bother talking to you."

I shake my head. "No, I'm not. I just wanted to catch up. Haven't seen you in a while. It's like we don't hang out anymore."

"Heh, well, I highly doubt you guys wanna hang out with me anyway."

"Please. You know Kyle and I would be fine with it. Eric's another case, but we don't really care about him, do we?"

He snorts. "True enough, dude."

"But seriously, how was everything been for you?"

He rocks his hand back and forth in a "so-so" motion. "I don't know…football's over which means I'm out of an excuse to turn in late work and I'm not doing so hot. I miss having someone to help me. I mean, yeah, I've got Wendy and she's great, but she's no teacher." He pauses, sipping absent-mindedly on his drink. "How, um, how's Kyle been?"

"I don't know why you don't ask him yourself."

"You know why, don't give me that."

"Right, because you love him. Sorry, my mistake. I mean, for all you know, he's fucking other guys by now." I say this almost jokingly, watching his face carefully for a reaction.

"What, like you?" he asks, not looking up at me.

I laugh. "While I appreciate that fact that you think I'm good enough for Kyle, I'm sad to admit that, no, he and I haven't been rubbing against each other. All I'm saying is, eventually he's going to move on – move on to a guy who's honest with himself – and are you sure you're okay with that?"

He still refuses to meet my eyes. There's a few seconds of silence. As I open my mouth to continue, he says, "I just…want him to be happy…"

I roll my eyes. "I'm sure that's exactly what you want. Don't give me that non-answer, Stan."

"Why do you care so fucking much?"

"Because maybe, just maybe, you're pushing him away forever. Maybe because, oh, I don't know, there's someone who may be interested and I'm not going to let him waste away over someone – you – who isn't willing to give him what he wants."

Another pause. "Who's interested?"

I have a feeling that he thinks Kyle and I have something going on. As tempted as I am to say that – mainly for a retort – I bite my tongue against it. "A guy I know. Introduced him to Kyle last week; we happened to run into him." Lies. But it's not completely untrue, I suppose.

I see him swallow. Finally, he looks up at me. "Yeah, I'm sure you _happened_ to run into a guy who just _happens_ to be gay, right? Stop bullshitting me, Kenny. If you're so willing to hook him up with someone, why are you talking to me?"

He's beginning to piss me off. If he really has no idea – no _fucking_ clue – how much he means to Kyle and what he's doing to the poor guy…I just don't get him.

"If you wanna act like I'm the goddamn bad guy in this," he continues, "I don't care. But remember, you're only hearing Kyle's side of this shit and he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. He's confused and acting like a fucking child—"

"Fine," I snap. "Act like you're the innocent one in all this shit. I don't give a fuck. But if you seriously think that this is my fault or Kyle's fault or your fault, then you're even more delusional than I thought. You can't _fault_ someone for human emotions, Stan. (Jesus, listen to me, I sound like Kyle.) But it's true. I don't blame you, just like I don't blame Kyle for fucking some guy last weekend, and just like I don't blame Wendy for being attracted to a total closet case. If you would just get off your fucking high horse, like you're so important that you're going to shake the earth when you decide to come out, then maybe you'd be happy. That's what I think. And that's why I'm talking to you. Because maybe, just maybe, I can help you stop fucking yourself over."

Stan stares at me, eyes wide. I let too much out, especially all at once. But he pushed me. I snapped. I can only take so much before I see red. Then, in a move I didn't see coming as a participant, but that I would've seen coming as a spectator, Stan, in one, quick movement, stands slightly and throws his fist at my face.

Unfortunately for him, and double-unfortunately for me, his sudden shift of weight causes the Obvious Table to shift onto its bad leg, hurling Stan – and his forward momentum – onto the tiny, rectangular tabletop and, ultimately, spilling the table and its contents into my lap. And, finally, everything drops to the floor with a crash.

When I open my eyes (I had shut them when the table had started to overturn), Stan is lying across my chest, there's something slimy running from my neck to my left arm, and my head is spinning. People huddle around us, whispering, a couple people laughing. I don't mind, I know I would laugh, too, if I wasn't currently dealing with the sudden loss of air.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" I'm not sure who asked it, but I grunt out a yes, pushing Stan off of me.

"Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormack." Our vice principal shoves her way to the front of the pack, then looks down at us in a mixture of horror and anger. "What…what…are you two all right?" I nod, and Stan gives her a quick affirmative.

"That damn table…it's been screwed up for a long time. I think it just got the best of us," I explain quickly.

She gives me a look of "yeah fucking right." But, ultimately, agrees. "Although I'm sure it was more than that…I'll have to agree with you. We'll get the custodian on it, should be fixed by tomorrow. Maybe in the future you two avoid sitting at tables that are obviously broken." She flashes us a knowing glare before turning to the pack. "Everyone, that's enough, go back to your lunches," she barks, and everyone, surprisingly, follows suit. "You two," she said, turning to us, "will be cleaning up your mess and I'll need you to carry that table to the custodian's office."

I groan inwardly. I hate manual labor. "Yes, ma'am," Stan says, ever the good, obedient one.

"And I'll inform your next period teachers you'll be running a little late," she sighs. Poor woman, always having to deal with us teens and our random bullshit.

The bell rang just as we finish mopping up the mess. Everyone spills out of the cafeteria, save for one person: Kyle. Who else? "Jesus, are you guys all right?" he asks, glancing between us.

I chuckle, "Yeah, I'm good. Head's a little sore but nothing serious." Stan ignores him, tossing some paper towels into the trashcan. I glare daggers at the back of Stan's head. "Just go to class, dude," I say, grinning at him. "Don't mess up your perfect attendance."

He smiles at me, casts a hopeless look at Stan, then exits the cafeteria. Alone with Stan, I sigh in irritation. "That was nice of him to ask," I say, as though to no one in particular. "I'm lucky to have such a great friend who would never treat me like shit."

"Fuck off." Stan picks up the mop and places it back into its bucket.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't talking to you." Yeah, I'm being immature and a smartass. But, some sympathy, please. I was just crushed by a table and my supposed best friend is being a jackass. I think I earn the right this one time.

"No, but you were before. Trying to get a rise out of me, trying to make me feel like crap. Well, sorry, Kenny, but I'm not gonna let you suck me into this crazy-ass situation." He rolls the mop and bucket into the storage closet, shutting the door behind him.

"Yeah, I could see from the way you wanted to beat the shit out of me, that you're totally fine, am I right?"

"Why'd you even say that?" He turns toward me, eyes furious.

I frown. "Which part?" I can barely remember anything I said. Like I said, I saw red. Don't hold me accountable, dude.

"That Kyle…" He stops, gesturing nonsense with his hands. "That he…you know…someone else…" He stops again, eyes dancing to and from the floor. "You know. Fuck, don't make me say it."

"Oh. That." I feel ashamed I let that part slip out. I wanted to present the information in a much more…mature way. Instead I'd let my anger drag it out of me. Fucking great. "I'm sorry about that, Stan. I didn't mean to say it, you just really pissed me off."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, too. I don't know what to say, really. It's just…it's a weird subject and I don't like talking about it."

"Why?"

"Cause, I know you think I am…that Kyle thinks I am…that I'm—" He glances about, nervously. "That I'm gay…but I'm not, okay?"

I nod slowly. "Okay, so everything with Kyle. What was that? A character flaw?"

"Maybe I was just confused. I didn't…I mean, maybe I liked it, okay, sure. But that doesn't mean anything. I have Wendy. And we have sex. And yeah. Know what I mean?"

"Not really. Dude, listen, if I thought you were gay for just Kyle, I'd say that. If I thought you were bi, I'd say that. But can you look at me and say that you _like_ doing Wendy? That you think about girls and get turned on?" I pause, looking at him. "Cause I don't think that's it at all."

He groans. "Fuck, Kenny. Stop acting like you know it all so well." I give him a look. "Okay, think you're right, I don't care."

"Maybe if you stopped caring completely, you'd be able to see I'm right, huh? Jesus, Stan, I'm not a fucking moron." He and I stoop in front of the table, lifting it off the ground. I grunt. It's heavier than it looks. He laughs. "Yeah, laugh it up, fucking jock." I cough.

"Yeah, I will. Maybe if you'd lay off the cigarettes you wouldn't be passing out right now." He grins, leading me out of the cafeteria and down the empty hall. "Look, let's say you're right; that doesn't change the fact…that I…that I can't say anything about it."

"Hm." I walk backwards, carefully. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"They could deny me my scholarship."

"Who? Oh, the colleges. Yeah, they could. Get a loan, if you care so much. Fuck, work harder in school. Suck up your pride and ask our Jewish friend for some help. Your precious football isn't going to be your savior. I mean, what are you even going to college for?"

He looks at me, flustered. "I…I don't know. I want to go…I want to find something I like and stick with it. I don't really want to play during college – that's all my dad – but it's like…what the fuck else is there for me?"

My elbow strikes a locker. "Yo, pay attention. I can't see where I'm going." He smiles in apology, and we continue. "Just figure it out. If they seriously care so much to take away a scholarship, then fuck them. Just, for the love of God, stop lying to yourself. It's pissing me off."

We don't say anything else on our trek to the custodian's office. When we finally reach it – I swear to God, it's on the opposite end of the goddamn school – we sit the table down with a sigh and I knock. "Yah." The door opens and our custodian, Mr. Morris, pops his head out. "Ah, that. Thanks boys, I'll take care of that."

"Thanks, Mr. Morris," Stan says. I toss the old guy a half-wave and Stan and I walk back to our lockers. I input my combination as Stan grabs his books out of his locker. "Kenny," he begins and I look over at him, "about that…that guy you introduced to Kyle."

"Yeah?"

"He…Kyle, I mean, sent me a text this weekend saying he was sorry. Did he…I mean…were you just trying to piss me off before?"

"Well, I was trying to piss you off," I say. "But…I wasn't _just_ trying to piss you off, no."

He stares at me, and I stare back. The look in his eyes wasn't remotely the reaction I wanted. It actually makes me feel _bad_ for him.

"I'm sorry, Stan," I add quickly, not knowing what else to say.

He doesn't say anything; he just stands there, chewing on his lip. "Yeah. It's not your fault, dude. I mean, c'mon, like you said…he needs someone who…is okay with himself."

"You don't believe that."

"Not really. But it's not my business. Fuck, none of it is. I shouldn't even fucking care." He slams his locker shut. The noise echoes down the vacant hallway. "Is he…I mean…are they…together now?"

"No, Kyle hated him, really. Not that I blame him; Ryder's nothing more than eye candy. No substance." I tap my forehead.

"Ah." He turns from his locker and begins walking down the hall to his class.

"Stan," I say, almost as an afterthought. He turns to look at me. "Do you love him?"

He sighs, then shrugs, twisting back around and disappearing into his classroom. In other words, yes. In my own interpretation, anyway. I glance down at my shirt. There's a thin stream of ketchup running down my arm. Nasty. I grab a spare piece of paper from my locker and wipe the red, sticky crap away.

That, possibly, could have gone better. I slam my locker shut and make off toward my class.

* * *

The remainder of the day, I keep my eye on Stan. I'm, truthfully, a little bit nervous about what he may or may not say to Kyle. From what I've seen from Stan today, he's on edge and ready to lash out at anyone. Someone from his football team – some guy with an eruption of acne, don't know his name – tried to get his attention in the hallway about an hour ago and Stan knocked him into the lockers. He mumbled a "sorry" to the guy, but everyone was pretty taken aback, to say the least. Myself included.

I'm starting to feel like this whole situation, my whole "plan," as it were, ended up being a huge disaster and a huge mistake. I need a cigarette. Or a joint. Anything to take the edge off. I grind my teeth.

I lean against my locker, surrounded by my classmates, as they cram books into their bookbags, shove gum into their mouths, and sprint down the hall toward the red exit sign. I'm not sure who I'm waiting for; nobody, probably. I'm heading to the Inside Scoop, to talk to Ryder. I need to know what's going on with him. I can't have him harassing my friend the way he is – if he is indeed calling and texting as much as Kyle claims. Kyle's no liar, but he does have a tendency to be overdramatic.

The sight of red hair catches my eye. It's Kyle, flinging his bookbag over his little shoulders. He grins at me, noticing that I'm watching him. I smirk back, making a face. He returns the look as he struggles to stay on-balance, what with that fifty-pound bag attached to his body.

He stumbles toward me, avoiding the constant stream of freshmen. "Hey," he says, standing as upright as he can manage.

I nod at his bag. "Gonna survive there, buddy?"

"Here's hoping." He adjusts, then readjusts. "Fucking classes, too much bullshit to do." I laugh, reminding him that the only reason he has so much work, is because he chooses the advanced courses. "Regardless," he replies. "too much shit."

I cram my hands into the pockets of my orange jacket. "I'm off. Eric and I are gonna be at the arcade tonight at six. You should come."

He considers this. "I think I will. I mean, if I finish all this in time. I'll do my best to make it. Hopefully." In other words, _"If my mom lets me."_ Yeah, his mom's a controlling bitch, but I'd rather have an over involved mom than one like mine, who couldn't care less about me. He's luckier than he thinks he is. "Later," he says, making his way toward the exit.

"See ya." I decide to wait until the halls are clear before leaving. I don't want Kyle to see me heading toward the Inside Scoop. I doubt he'd make that assumption simply by the direction I walk, but I would rather be overly-cautious. I don't want him getting all worried and stressed out. More so than he is.

My mouth curls into a tight frown as I see Stan heading toward Kyle (well, they are walking toward one another, I guess I should say). I hold my breath, mentally preparing Kyle for a verbal – or perhaps physical – beat-down. Why I assume the worst, I don't know, but there it is.

Kyle, looking confident – _Way to go, dude_, I can't help but praise him – strides past his ex-lover, shoulders back, eyes facing forward. Miss Manners, whoever that bitch is, would be proud. Stan, however, does not even glance at Kyle. Interesting. No, not interesting – he's looking at me, instead. I force a careless grin onto my face.

"What up?" I ask as Stan parks himself before me. Stan, gripping his shoulder-strap tightly, says nothing. I cock an eyebrow. "Uh, hello? Dude? Talking here."

"I know," he says, looking embarrassed. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, currently. You?"

He shrugs. "Fuck if I know. Nothing, probably. Seems like that's all I'm doing lately."

"Should join me and Eric at the arcade tonight. Six o'clock. I'll be the one kicking his ass in foosball," I say, arching my back against the lockers.

"Why, is Kyle coming? Is this some desperate attempt to get us together?"

"Goddamn, Stan, calm down. Yeah, Kyle might be coming. Whether that makes a difference to you, I don't give a fuck. Come if you want, don't come if you don't want to. Seems like a simple answer to me. I'd like to hang with you, but not if you're going to be an asshole like you were today."

He grunts. "Maybe I'll come."

"Good. Will you act normal? Human, perhaps?"

He smiles dimly. "We'll see."

"Okay then." I jerk my thumb toward the school's exit. "Ready to go?"

Stan and I walk together in an awkward silence. To be expected, considering he did try to punch me in the face today, as well as the news I delivered to him. "So," he says, breaking the silence, "need a lift home?"

I wave my hand at him. "No, that's okay. I'm just gonna walk around."

"You sure? I don't mind."

"Yeah, it's cool. Stuff to do. You know." He gives me a weird stare out of the corner of his eye, and asks what stuff I need to do. "Oh, this and that. Maybe get some ice cream, I don't know."

"Maybe I'll join ya." I pause. He obviously doesn't believe a word I'm saying. Does he still think I'm in pursuit of Kyle? Or is he suspicious of what I'm doing? Quite frankly, I'm confused as hell.

"Erm, no, that's all right. It's nice to have some 'me' time. But you should totally come with me to the arcade later. It's gonna be brutal." I quickly change the subject, but even I'm aware that it's a lame attempt.

Stan stops in his tracks and grabs me by the elbow. "Why don't you want me coming with you?" he asks firmly.

I open my mouth, prepared to lie. I close it. When I open it again, I say, "I'm going to talk to that Ryder guy, okay?"

He looks shocked. "Why?"

Again I'm faced with a harrowing decision. Truth or lie? This or that? Is there even a right answer here? It sure as fuck doesn't feel like it. "Cause Ryder's been calling and texting Kyle, and Kyle doesn't wanna talk to him. So, I'm just gonna go tell Ryder to calm the fuck down, you know? Nothing serious; I just figured you wouldn't want to be around him."

"You're right about that." Stan grimaces. "All right. Sorry. None of my business." He lets go of my elbow and we continue our trudge out to the outside world. "Yeah," he says, "just…make sure that guy fucks off, all right? Kyle doesn't need to be stalked by some asshole."

Damn right he doesn't. We walk down the sidewalk until we reach a fork in the lane. "See ya," I say, turning toward the right. "Inside Scoop's this-a-way, so I'm afraid our journey together must end here."

He smiles. "Yeah, too bad," he quips, shoving his hands into his pants' pockets. "Listen, I'll see you tonight. Six o'clock, right?" I nod. "Okay, awesome. And Kenny?" I turn to look at him, questioningly. "Thanks for, uhh, you know…"

I do. Well, I think I do. No real way to be sure, is there? Nonetheless, I nod, giving him a half-wave, half-bird type of gesture. He flips me off in return and we each go our separate ways.

I kick a patch of snow with my run-down boots. I try my best to plan out exactly what I'm going to say to Ryder. I'm honestly in awe that he's acting so clingy. After our escapades, he barely spoke to me at all. Onto his next man, I assume. That Kyle must be gifted, if all these guys can't stop thinking about him after the fact. Okay, two guys. My point still remains valid.

I yawn, pulling my pack of cigarettes from my pocket. Finally. It's been too long, my dears. Into my mouth one goes. I flick my lighter. Light it. Inhale. Exhale. It's ecstasy, really. My brother predicted I'd either die of lung cancer by the age of twenty-one, or of some horrible STD by the age of twenty-five, laughing while he said it. I predicted he'd die a virgin.

I brush away some of the extra ashes on the tip, as the roof of the Inside Scoop comes into view. He'd better be working today. Not only do I need to talk to him, I'd like some free damn ice cream. I push open the door; the bells jingle.

Ryder pokes his head out from the back room. "Hey, Kenny," he greets me, with a smile. "What are you up to?"

"Just got out of school," I reply, handing him my cigarette. He takes a quick drag, then tosses it away for me. "How about you? Besides the interesting attempt to sell ice cream during the winter."

He laughs. "Yeah, I know. Boring as shit, obviously." He pauses, pursing his lips. "So, um…I tried calling Kyle yesterday, but he didn't answer. Is he okay?"

I try to look nonchalant as I wave his question away. "Oh yeah, he's fine. No worries."

"Okay, good." He trails off, looking uncomfortable. "Cause I, uhh…I wanted to ask him out again."

I raise my eyebrows. "Whoa, what?" I can't contain it. I'm lucky I got rid of my cigarette, because it would have been halfway to my stomach by now.

He blushes. "Yeah, I know. What the fuck, right? I just thought it'd be nice to see him again. He's fucking hot."

"Yeah, I know. Listen, Ryder, he's not looking for…for anything like that right now." I think about adding "with you" to that statement, then decide against it. "He just got his heart broken, you know how it goes. Plus, he'll be leaving for college soon. Far away, I'll bet. You don't wanna get mixed up with that."

He looks flustered. His cheeks are bright pink. If this wasn't such an awkward conversation I'd find that a total turn-on. "Yeah, good point." He laughs, allowing the red in his cheeks to fade. "It was weird; it's like he's just got that _something_ about him. But you're right, he's probably not my type anyway. A little shy, can't really hold his liquor…" I fight the urge to roll my eyes; Ryder gets drunk off of two glasses of wine, he has no room to talk. "…plus, way too smart for me. I need someone in my range, or lower." He grins. At least he's not totally oblivious. I smile back.

"Okay, great. He was so scared of hurting you, he was afraid to return your calls," I chuckle, shaking my head. "I told him not to worry about it."

"Yeah. I'm a big boy, I think I can handle it." He shrugs. "But if you happen to have any more like that lying around, don't be afraid to bring them by." He looks me up and down, quickly. "Or…if you'd like to…go out again, that'd be great, too."

I smirk. I can't go three hours without someone begging me for it, for something. "Mm, maybe. I'll come by tomorrow, we'll get something…planned out." I enjoy the cheesy flirting, and he eats it up. He beams. This boy, such a one-track mind. I don't know why Kyle – or I – was so worried about hurting him. Like I said, no substance. I wasn't just spewing shit when I said that.

One flirtatious conversation and a free ice cream cone later, I walk back toward the arcade. I have a couple hours left until Eric and Stan, and possibly Kyle, show up, but I'd rather be there than at home. Not for the reasons you'd guess – my parents may be alcoholics, but they don't beat us, like so many people assume. Nah, as pathetic and distant as they are, they love us. In their own, distant way. I'm cool with it, but it's just really depressing to be around them.

Not to mention, Eric's probably in there already, wasting his mother's money on every game in the arcade.

As I enter the arcade, I grin to myself as I see Eric's robust body leaning excitedly over the Ms. Pacman machine. The large, blue machine is practically teetering as he presses his weight against the controller, forcing the tiny yellow woman "_up_, dammit, _up!"_ I walk up behind him, a good couple inches shorter, and possibly half the width, and poke over his shoulder. "_Eh!_ Get away, asshole!" He glances at me, then looks back at the screen. "Hey Kenny. Back the fuck up, huh?"

I chortle. "Yeah, that'll help. You're not even on the key level yet, and you're down to one life. You're fucked, my dear."

He makes a noise, ignoring me. After being consumed by the pink ghost, he rolls his eyes, spinning away from the game. "Messed me up, Kenny."

I laugh. "Yeah, it was all me. That's fine."

The arcade is bigger than one would assume, considering how small the building – and, of course, the town itself – is. It's a single room, but it's deep, maybe a good fifty by fifty foot area. And games are _crammed_ into this fucking place. The owner is a retired dude from Florida or some place. Loaded. He's never here, however; he hired his granddaughter, April (okay face, so-so body. A little on the plain side for me. But she's a total video game geek, which I find adorably appealing), to run the place for him. I don't know how she manages dealing with these kids. Girl's got skill, I'll give her that.

Perhaps noticing I was looking at her, April comes around from behind the counter. Oversized blue jeans and a Batman tee shirt. Hair up in a messy bun. No piercings, no tattoos. The epitome of a "good girl" and yet, so much less boring. The only girl I am able to see in a non-sexual manner. Maybe that's why she interests me so much. "You two again," she says, hands on her hips. "Haven't seen you two in a while; thought maybe you stopped loving the games."

"Never," Eric says, smiling oh-so-smoothly. He's always fancied April – probably because she's the only girl who's never been cruel to him, and vice versa – but he's got no chance. She's twenty-one and, unless she's into the younger men, I highly doubt she'll go for him. She returns his smile.

"Good. I need your money. You always got the determination when you come in here." She fixes her bun, a chunk of brown hair spilling out. She frowns. "Shit. I'll be right back; this'll drive me crazy if I don't fix it." She walks off, cursing her hair.

"She's hot," Eric mutters to me, as though he doesn't tell me this every single time we come in here.

"I guess."

"I don't get you; you're willing to fuck _anyone_, but when it comes to a girl with real…" He pauses, squeezing his hands in emphasis. "…personality, you're turned off. Why?"

"No idea. Like I said, maybe I see her more as a friend or a sister than a sex object."

"You sicken me."

"I do my best." We chuckle. Just two guy buddies manning it up. And to think, who'd imagine that the only one of my best friends who wanted to screw girls was Eric Cartman? Mind boggling.

Kyle never showed up that night, unsurprisingly. Stan, on the other hand, had shown up, and it was like old times again. He didn't even wince every time Eric called him "gay" or a "fag." Maybe he's growing up; more conscious of himself. One can only hope, though my hope is waning, to be honest. He was happy, that night. It was relieving.

And that was why, the next day, standing outside the school with Kyle, at 3:05 pm, I stood in shock as I watched Stan drive the direction my quest had led me just the day before, his face raged, the tires of his car sputtering out smoke as he burned rubber against the pavement.

_To Be Continued…_


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer – I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note – Nope, no excuses. Just busy as hell. I hope and pray that the next wait isn't nearly as long, but I will no longer make promises, because I hate breaking them. So, I'll just keep the promise that this _will_ be finished, eventually. _That_ I am sure of. :)

PS: Back to Kyle's POV. Whether I switch back to Kenny's POV is yet to be seen, but I'm not going to rule anything out.

* * *

Can't Fight This Feeling

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Oh, he's under my skin  
Just give me something to get rid of him  
I've got a reason now to bury this alive  
Another little white lie  
-Alexz Johnson "Skin"

Change isn't easy...changing the way you live  
means changing what you believe about life.  
That's hard... When we make our own misery,  
we sometimes cling to it even when we want  
so bad to change because the misery is  
something we know. The misery is comfortable.  
-Dean Koontz, _One Door Away From Heaven_

When the lambs is lost in the  
mountain...They is cry. Sometime come  
the mother. Sometime the wolf.  
-Cormac McCarthy,_ Blood Meridian_

He taught me that none of us are who  
we appear to be on the outside. But we  
must maintain appearances to survive.  
-Michael C. Hall (as "Dexter Morgan"): _"Dexter"_

_

* * *

_**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

I was going to tell them this morning. My parents, that is. I fell asleep last night thinking, _Okay, I'm going to tell them tomorrow._ I didn't want to live as a hypocrite anymore, you know? Getting so angry at Stan for refusing to come out, when in all actuality, the number of people who know I'm gay can be counted on one hand.

I really had it planned out, too. I even got on my computer and googled "ways to come out", which was immensely unhelpful; most of the results were "joke" coming-out situations – ways to freak out the parents, et cetera. It would have been hilarious if I wasn't planning on facing it for real the next morning. (I also completed my very first porn search and I'm telling you…I don't see the appeal. Sex, visually, is some fucked-up looking shit.)

I don't know what changed my mind. Maybe it was the nausea that sprung up into my throat when I went downstairs this morning. Maybe it was the way they looked at me, like I was this perfect godsend of a child. Maybe it was the fact that I blurted out "not hungry! Off to school!" and then bolted out of the house. It was one of the above, though I suppose no one could ever _really_ be sure.

I don't think I'm ready just yet. I'm not completely sure what I'm afraid of – my mother will love me regardless of anything I say or do, and my dad…as long as I get a good job and make a lot of money, something tells me I really can't disappoint him.

But I may. And that uncertainty is enough to make me paranoid.

I walked to school this morning. Got up early enough to stop by Kenny's house before he left; I didn't feel like walking alone. Not to mention I needed to know what the fuck happened yesterday. It seems like it was some kind of…fuck if I know. It was insanity – Stan trying to hit Kenny, their weird conversation. The whole thing is confusing to me; I know that Kenny is trying to help out, but I'm honestly starting to think that it's a lost cause. Or that I'm just tired of it. College is full of gay guys, from what I've heard. Maybe I'll worry about finding someone when I'm set. If I'm going to be successful at whatever-the-fuck I want to do, getting distracted by juvenile things like this (this _love_ thing) is going to ruin me.

Yeah. Giving up is the right answer sometimes. I know they say to "never give up", but what if the thing you're doing is hurting more than helping? Surely giving up is an option at that point. Plus, I'm not exactly _giving up_; I think of it more as…acceptance. That's the final stage, isn't it? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. The full cycle. I can say with a full certainty that I've bounded down those steps a multitude of times. I think it's time I embrace acceptance.

That's the healthy solution of it all.

I knocked on Kenny's door, winced inwardly at the shouting from inside, and grinned at him when he poked his head outside. "Kyle!" he said, surprised. "Didn't know we made plans to walk together."

"Didn't we?" I smiled.

"Cute, Kyle." He snagged his bookbag from beside the door and swung it over his shoulder. "Shall we, then?" He extended his hand in a mock courtesy.

"Why yes," I replied, following the direction of his outstretched arm. We walked no less than twenty feet when I finally managed to say, "So…yesterday."

He looked over at me, coy. "Yes, yesterday. What about it?" At my unamused expression, he laughed. "What's there to say, Kyle? He's still a douchebag, he tried to punch me, and he's overly-paranoid about what people think about him. The usual, you know." I nodded slowly. His words hadn't exactly shocked me (though I'd be lying if a part of me wasn't hoping – _praying_, even – for him to say something positive), but I was still dealing with that empty pit of disappointment in my gut. "But," he adds, lighting up a cigarette – his second of the day, if my timing was correct, "I'll say this: my hope for him is growing."

I cocked an eyebrow. Kenny went on to explain how Stan had hung out with him and Cartman the night before – how he hadn't gotten pissed off about Cartman's typical "gay" insults, and how pissed he'd been about Ryder.

I swallowed. "Pissed how?"

"Jealous, me-thinks. Or he's just angry because someone else took something – you – from him. Either way, I'm just glad he wasn't apathetic to the whole thing. _That _would've pissed me off." He gave me a look that I couldn't interpret and blew his smoke into the air above our heads.

"You know," I said after a moment of inner debate, "I've been thinking—"

"Let me guess," he interrupted, closing his eyes and holding out his hand in a pseudo-psychic kind of charade. "You…are thinking…you want to just give up on Stan." I stared, taken-aback, but mostly wondering if I was _that_ damn transparent. He laughed, a short kind of bark that was void of any real humor. "I'm not _really_ psychic, Kyle, if you're concerned about that. I just know you. You'll teeter-totter about this for _weeks_. 'Oh, I love him, I need him back. No, wait, he's not worth it. Fuck him!'" I shot him a look and he added, "Not that I _blame_, you, dude. I'm just saying – that's how I knew."

"Mm."

He smiled at me, rubbing my shoulder in a friendly gesture. "I didn't mean that in a bad way, Kyle. It's just like…the cycle that's been going on lately. I personally think you should've given up on Stan eons ago, but that's just me." He flicked the spare ash off his cigarette and shrugged. "Can't force a guy out of the closet, after all."

"Yeah."

We walked the rest of the way in silence. He shared a few drags off of his third cigarette, which I accepted. I only coughed twice. He had grinned at that, looking proud.

School began as per usual – homeroom, a 93% on my AP Biology test (_what, I missed_ that_? God, you idiot, Kyle, you only studied this shit for hours the night before…_), a regular class of AP English, complete with Cartman bitching me out for not attending the oh-so-important rally of gaming the previous night – a few _hint-hint_ gay probes, of course – and then it was lunchtime again. I took my usual seat beside Kenny – who always has his lunch prepared and ready to go by the time I get into the damn cafeteria, somehow – and stole a munch of hamburger as Cartman plopped down on the opposite side of Kenny.

"Guess who got Call of Duty for their Wii?" he asked, donning the smug look he had perfected over the years of being spoiled.

"Hm, well, considering you're the only one who even _owns_ a Wii…" I said, tapping my index finger against my chin, looking sarcastically thoughtful. "I wonder…"

"Hush, Jew; just because your parents are too tight-fisted – and I'm sure you know _all_ about tight-fisting – to buy you a Wii doesn't mean you should act that way." He grinned at me through it all and I couldn't help but chuckle. Kenny, in congenial agreement, chortled into his food, coughing as a piece of something went down a little too rough.

"So," Kenny said, after taking a swig of milk, "is that an invitation? Or do you prefer playing alone? And when I say 'playing alone' –"

"Yeah, yeah. Funny shit, asshole. Yeah, you should all come tonight and I'll beat your asses at it." He glanced at me, cocking an eyebrow. "Unless someone is too _busy_ for a manly night of violence and beatings."

I smirked. "Never too busy to own you at your own game console, Cartman." Yeah, my parents probably would not be thrilled about me going to Cartman's house on a weeknight, but, hey, I had finished all of my homework last night; what more did they want from me? Plus, I could use a relaxing night of just playing video games – even if Stan comes.

I felt a wisp of breeze on me and I turned my head upward. Stan was tapping Kenny on the shoulder, ever the master of invisibility, and whispering something that sounded like _"cuh ere", _which I easily translated to _"come here"._ Impressive, no?

Kenny did a good job of nudging me slightly as he stood up and he tossed me a knowing look. Cartman and I exchanged a confused glance and then shrugged in unison, turning back to our trays. I know it would be surprising to say that Cartman and I do not usually chit-chat when we're left alone, but there it is. There's always been a tension between us – fueled mainly by his douchebaggery and enriched by my stubborn need to have the last word. And yet…we're still part of the same group of friends. I don't pretend to understand it. We haven't killed each other yet, so it's safe to assume that we never will.

"What cha fink 'ey're talkin' 'bout?" he asked through a mouth of food.

I glanced over at Stan and Kenny – back at the Obvious Table (I still cringe at _that_ name; what kind of stupid shit is that?) and whispering together, and I shrugged, pretending not to care like I so completely did because let's face it, I'm human and I was sure they were talking about me in some fashion and I so shouldn't have been so vain but what else could it have been? "Nut graf?" I suggested, giving him a half-smile.

He actually laughed at that - I figured he would've gotten it, since we're both in AP English, but it was almost nice to see that he and I could actually get along in _some_ fashion. "Yeah, like they even know what the fuck that is." He shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, considering. "Well, maybe the nut part."

I laughed, a silent kind of laughter that was mainly just a sharp exhale through my nose, and nodded. "Yeah, like Stan would say that in any context; might be seen as _gay_, after all." I hadn't meant to say that out loud, but it just popped out, needing an escape.

Cartman looked over at me, curious. "Oh? Is the Jew a little angry at someone?" I rolled my eyes. "C'mon, asshole, you think I didn't notice you two haven't talked since I saw you making out that night? Don't think I forgot about _that_ shit; it's haunted me since."

"Yeah, I'm sure you haven't gotten off to it at _all_," I muttered, sucking at my milk a little too hard and swallowing a large chunk of air along with it. "He's just been a douche lately," I added as he continued to stare at me with that curious grin.

"He's always been an annoying douche. He went emo at the age of _nine_, Jesus Christ; if that's not a sign of annoying, I don't know what is. Come on, _Kyle_…" He said my name with a sickeningly sweet tone, like I was going to just cave in and spill if he was kind. "…I'm just _worried_."

"Yes, this has nothing to do with blackmail. It's just the kindness in your heart, right?"

He batted his eyelashes at me and I made a disgusted face. "Fine," he said, finally, dropping the charade, "I don't give a fuck. I just feel like I know something and you know how I _love_ being right. You'd think I'd get tired of it, but…"

"Too bad there's nothing to tell. He's just too concerned about shit that doesn't matter – too obsessed with other people's opinions of him – and it's driving me batshit crazy. I think that's enough to piss me off."

"Fucking liar. Should've known a Jew would lie to me." I knew he was just trying to get under my skin, so I let the comments roll off my back. "Whatever, like I give a shit." He turned back to his food, and I back to mine. Conversation gone, forgotten for now.

Kenny, oh, sweet Jesus, thank you, finally plopped back down at the table, a barrier between me and Cartman. He grinned, picking up a French fry and placing it into his mouth. "What have you two been talking about?" he asked, glancing between me and Cartman. "I sense a familiar _anger_ lurking about."

"Oh, he's just being a sandy vagina," Cartman said, a bite in his voice as he reused an old insult (my least favorite, aside from the anti-Semitic remarks, of course).

Kenny looked amused for a moment; he then caught my eye and raised his eyebrow slightly, speaking volumes in that simple gesture. _We'll talk later,_ the look said. _And it's gonna be _good. Okay, so perhaps I stressed that last part; but he certainly had that aflame look in his eye, notwithstanding my personal paranoia. "Right," he said. "You gonna eat that yogurt?"

I stood as Cartman and Kenny dickered over the yogurt ("Gimme your PSP." "A PSP for a thing of yogurt? You're delusional; it's not even strawberry." "Fine, hook me up with a hot girl." "Finally ready to lose your virginity, are you?" I think Kenny may have lost the yogurt after that last remark). I walked over to the trash can and tossed in my empty milk carton and used napkins, and then placed my dirty tray on top of the tall stack of ready-to-be-cleaned lunch trays. As soon as my fingertips left the plastic tray, I felt a hand on my arm. "Wha—"

"Hi, Kyle!" Bebe smiled at me, showing a row of tiny white teeth. Lovely teeth, really; she had braces for two years in middle school. She had always complained about them, saying they made her so ugly. Always over-dramatic. I barely remember what she looked like with the braces, but it certainly hadn't been "ugly." "How are you?"

"Good," I said. "How've you been? Enjoy your…lunch?"

"Yes," she said with a not-as-endearing-as-she-probably-thought-it-was giggle. "As much as possible anyway. So, Kenny said he set you up with someone the other day?"

I froze. Not surprising that Kenny was gossiping about me, but what _exactly_ had been his words? "Um…"

"Yeah, he said you didn't really hit it off with her," she continued, and I relaxed a bit. Not that I expected Kenny to shout my homosexuality from the rooftops, but…it was not completely out of the realm of possibility. "And I'm sorry it didn't go well, but, I was just wondering..." I swallowed. No way. I was not prepared for this. "…if you'd want to, I don't know, do something sometime? Maybe a double-date with Clyde and Lydia?" She stepped a bit closer to me – _She's almost as tall as me_, I had thought, absentmindedly – and I thought she was going to kiss me (or _worse_) right there in the lunchroom.

"I, uhh…no, no thanks," I stammered out. Her breasts were brushing against my arm, and…was that _really_ what straight guys went for? Because it just seemed so _unappealing_ and _awkward_ to me…but, then, I'm not straight, so I should not judge, I guess.

Her face fell and I felt a pang of guilt. I hadn't meant to sound so disgusted or uninterested by it, but, damn it, she had _rubbed her boobs_ on me and had looked like she wanted to jump me in the cafeteria. Was I _supposed_ to be calm? "I mean," I added, desperately, "I really like you, Bebe, but I just…after that last date…and I'm just not in a good place to start dating…"

She perked up a tad and smiled softly. "Oh, no, I understand. Kenny said you'd probably need time, but I was just sort of…hoping, you know? Maybe prom?"

I smiled back. "Maybe," I said, doing my best to sound coy and I guess I had done pretty well because her smile widened and she winked.

"I'll look forward to asking you then," she said. I replied that I would, as well (yeah, right, just another thing to freak out about), and she had patted my arm and turned, her blond hair trailing after her in a wave of shimmering light, and my body unclenched, exhaling a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

I sat back down beside Kenny, ignoring that look he was giving me. "What was that all about?" he asked, nudging me on the shoulder.

"Oh, Bebe just, umm, wanted to…"

"Yeah, I bet she did," he said, nodding in approval. "I hope you said no."

"Well, yeah."

"Good. As one who has been there, done that, I'll tell you: not impressed." He smirked at me with those damn knowing eyes and I heaved a heavy sigh in faux-disgust. He grinned, the parentheses around the corners of his mouth deepening. "Just saying, dude; unless you're secretly harboring a lustful, erotic, sexual – and, of course, naked – desire for Miss Bebe, then—"

"Shut up, Kenny."

Cartman snorted, pointing at me with his spoon. "See, this is why we think you suck cock, Kyle. A hot chick asks you out – _you_, of all people – and you say no. What kind of crap is that?"

"Right, because God forbid I actually want someone with _substance_, not just a mouth." I smiled at my poor choice of wording and decided to add, for purely comedy's sake, "And tits." That cracked them both up, much to my enjoyment (a joke is but a simple way to repel the countless amount of questions regarding my sexuality). Not to mention the one-syllable word was enough to send Kenny skyrocketing into a whole speech about Kandy's breasts. Cartman hung on every word, asking, when Kenny had finished, when he could meet her.

"When you fuck half as well as me," Kenny had replied, winking. What a charmer, that one.

The bell rung. I followed behind my two friends, pausing by the cafeteria's exit to tie my sneaker (a black PUMA Kletterer fashion sneaker; a gift from Mom for making the high honor roll my entire Sophomore year; they're starting to show signs of wear, and I'll probably need to buy new shoelaces soon, judging from the tattering and the off-color; I love these shoes, and my mom shelled out quite a bit to get them for me), for only a quick second, and I pushed past the door into the hallway.

A hand grabbed my shoulder, stopping me. Bebe popped into my field of vision, a smile on her face. "Hey, Kyle," she said. "Sorry for asking you out, you know, out of the blue. I just thought I'd give it a shot; I don't want to make anything awkward around us or anything."

I waved her concern away, grinning. "Oh, that's not a problem. We've known each other forever; a little too late to start acting awkward."

She laughed. "Yeah, true. Listen…I just want to know: is it _me_ (the reason you said no, that is), or are you just…interested in someone else? Or what?" I didn't reply, so she continued, "It's purely for my ego, Kyle, I promise. Like you said, we've known each other forever. Kind of stings when an old friend rejects you."

Tell me about it.

"Oh, no, Bebe, it's not you. I like you just fine. It's just…"

Wide eyes looked up at me, books clutched against her breasts in a half-concerned, half-curious fashion. "What is it, Kyle? I won't tell anyone, I promise."

I almost laughed right out loud at that. I held my tongue. "It's someone else."

"Who?"

"I, uh…no one. I just…it needs time, and we don't really get along, and I'm not sure how to deal with it; it's just really complicated," I babbled, wanting _out_ of the conversation ASAP.

Eyes grew wider, and it looked as though they were ready to pop right out of her skull. "Is it…" She glanced down the nearly-empty hallway, and then returned her gaze to me. "It's Stan, isn't it?"

"What?" I almost shouted it; in fact, I just may have. My heart had leapt up into my throat, my ears, deafening me with the accelerated _thump thump thump_. "What?" I said again stupidly. "I…"

She smiled softly. "I just…had a feeling. You two always had that…" She waved a hand, like she was trying to pluck the noun right out of thin air. "…chemistry, I guess." A frown. "Not getting along?"

We began our journey back to the classrooms, side-by-side. I shrugged. "He's pissed at me, I guess."

"Why?"

"Who knows," I lied. "Not that it makes a difference; he has Wendy, after all. And I like Wendy," I tossed in, remembering Bebe and Wendy's tight friendship. "Wouldn't want to move in on her man or anything."

"Yeah, that's true. Especially since he's not gay." She turned her eyes to the ground in front of us, obviously thinking. "But maybe I could help you find someone – I know Kenny tried, but his idea of a date is, well…" She blushed. "Different."

I tossed her a smile. "That'd be nice." We walked the rest of the way to the classrooms in silence. My mind was shouting a million things at me, the loudest being _You just revealed your biggest secret to the class gossip, you dumb twat; way to go!_

"And Kyle," she said as we turned toward our respective classrooms, "I won't tell anyone. Promise!" She gave my arm a quick squeeze and disappeared into her room.

I exhaled. Great. I quickly opened my locker and grabbed my books, high-tailing it to my classroom. Kenny was going to have a heyday with this.

* * *

"You _what?"_ Kenny dissolves into laughter, clutching at me to stay upright. "Oh, God, Kyle, you dumb twat, you." His fingers twist in my shirt as he struggles to keep his balance.

I bat his hand away. "Stop that. It wasn't my fault, all right? Apparently I have '_I love Stan'_ tattooed on my damn forehead." I smooth out my shirt as he lets go. "Besides, what was I supposed to do?"

He shrugs as we walk outside. Instantly a cigarette is perched between his fingers and I can almost feel his mind screaming, _Finally!_ "I don't know," he says. "And honestly, it might be the best thing for you."

"Excuse me?" I raise my eyebrow.

"Yeah, now you don't have to have the awkward-as-hell 'Oh, um, everyone, I'm gay' conversation. It'll be all over school tomorrow, and all you'll have to do is tell people 'Yes,' 'No,' or 'Mind your damn business'. Up to you, of course."

I consider this. In all honesty, if my _"I love Stan"_ tattoo is as vivid as it seems, most people should assume, to some degree, already. Maybe this will make the entire process easier (or sped up, at the very least). Not like I have much control over it now. Silver lining, that's what I'll need to focus on. Unfortunately I still have to tell my parents. Jesus, why can't they just go to school, too, and learn about it through the grapevine, like a normal person?

Dammit.

I push the thought aside. I'll deal with _that_ later.

Kenny's elbow catches me in the ribs. "Hey," he says, pointing ahead of us, toward the street. "Looks like Stan's not taking Wendy home today." I look in the direction of his finger and note that, indeed, Stan's car is _sans_ passengers and that Wendy is walking to the parking lot with Bebe. I frown, mentally noting that his car is pointed in the wrong direction.

Kenny seems to have noticed as well; I glance at him and his face is frozen in an expression of…shock? I must be mistaken; Kenny is rarely, if ever, shocked. He has some kind of psychic ability, I tend to believe, what with the easygoing and emotionless way he deals with…everything.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Shit," he says. "He wouldn't…right?"

"Wouldn't what?" Silence. "Kenny. What?"

"Yesterday," he says slowly, "he saw me going…that way. I was seeing Ryder to tell him to lay off you. But that's just…I mean, it's not like I told him _where_…"

"Oh, shit." He and I walk out toward the street, to where Stan's car is slowly – but not slowly enough – inching away from the student parking lot. He revs his engine, his jaw set in a determined expression, eyes narrow. "Stan!" I shout. He doesn't look toward me. He finally gets past the other cars around him and pulls out onto the main road. Fuck. He accelerates, speeding away just as my feet hit the sidewalk alongside the road.

Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe…

Yeah, _maybe_. And _maybe_ Stan is slitting Ryder's throat with one of those ice cream scoopers.

I feel Kenny's hand on my back. "You don't think he would…"

Kenny swallows. His cigarette has disappeared, on the concrete somewhere behind us, I assume. "Judging from how he was yesterday…yeah, I think he would."

"Shit!" I say again. I drop my backpack and sprint off, noting, with extreme appreciation, that Kenny has picked up my bag and is following behind me as quickly as he and his smoker's lungs can. I tell myself to thank him later.

My lungs are shrieking at me, there's a stitch in my gut, and my legs are burning. I thank each and every higher power that the Inside Scoop isn't far from school. Lo and behold, Stan's car is parked right in front. My stomach sinks. I hadn't wanted to drag anyone into this.

I approach the doors, slowing down into a moderate jog, and I can hear voices inside already. Stan's voice, shouting.

"Leave him _alone_, all right? He's too good for you and your surfer-asshole thing or whatever you've got going on…so stop fucking _calling _him!"

"I'm _not_, all right? Calm the fuck down, Rambo."

I burst into the shop with a _"Hey!"_ I wasn't aware I had shouted until my ears caught the echo. Two heads snap toward me. "What the…what are you doing here, Stan?" I ask, my ping-ponging glance finally landing on Stan.

"Just having a chat with your, um…" He pauses, eyes narrowing. "Your _fuck-buddy_ or whatever you call it."

"_It?"_ Ryder snaps, finally inching away from the wall he had been pressed against. He is still behind the counter and, from the looks of the positioning, Stan had been seconds away from hurdling over the counter at the poor guy. "I'd watch your goddamn mouth if I were—"

"Ryder, stop," I say, holding up my hand at him. "Seriously, it's not worth it."

"Oh, that's cute, coming from _you_, Kyle," Stan shouts, stepping toward me. "'Oh, it's not worth it,'" he continues, mocking me in an extremely immature manner. If I wasn't so pissed off _and_ nervous, I would have laughed right in his face. "Like I'm _so_ unworthy of this guy's time when I'm just trying to protect you—"

I roll my eyes. "Right, protecting me. Don't try to guilt me, jackass; it's all about you and your selfish bullshit. As usual. You're jealous about what happened and _now_ you decide to man-up. What if someone you knew had come in? Asked what the hell you were doing? Would you have said, 'I'm fighting this guy because I'm in love with Kyle'?" I laugh, a short, but loud, _Ha!_ that surprises everyone in the room, including myself. "No, you would have lied your ass off. So, it's not about me. It's about you. It's always about you."

He grits his teeth, causing his jaw to flex. In any other instance, it'd be a massive turn-on. "Right. Because it's never about you. What do all three of us have in common, I wonder? Oh…it's you. Interesting. You're not as much of a victim as you think you are."

Ryder stares at us, looking much less anxious than he had when I had arrived. I guess he realizes, as I do, that the anger is directed at _me_ now. He's safe, for the moment. He watches both of us, me and Stan, as we shout back and forth at one another in this tiny, shitty ice cream parlor. Part of me believes that he's waiting for the perfect opportunity to bolt, get the hell away from us and our stupid drama bullshit. _Oh, Ryder, take me with you. I can barely take it, myself_.

"I don't want to be a victim. I just don't want to fucking suffer anymore, all right? I think that's reasonable."

Stan huffs – another tally on the _pointless immaturity_ side – and mutters "whatever", giving one last angry glance at Ryder, and storms past me. His palm smacks against the glass door, and it must have hurt, judging from the noise it made, and I shoot an apologetic look at Ryder. He nods at me, smiling; nice guy, but I'd rather not see him again.

I follow behind Stan, led mostly by pent-up frustration. "So, what now? Going back to your girlfriend? Off to pretend that you're happy?"

He rounds on me. "Shut the _hell_ up, Kyle! I _am_ happy! Or, at least I _was_ before you came around with your _'I love you' _crap." I swallow, dulling the emotional sting as best I can. He steps up to me, and there's maybe two inches of space between us. I try to swallow again, but my mouth is so damn dry that it's impossible. "And you keep _confusing_ me, goddammit, and I don't know _what _the fuck to do about anything, and…"

"Yeah, because you're gay." I roll my eyes for what must be the umpteenth time today. "Keep lying to yourself about it, I don't give a shit; but don't make it my fault. It's _you_ and _your _issues and _your _repression, and if you'd just realize that you _enjoy _giving it to me – or any guy – up the ass, then maybe you wouldn't be so—"

He hits me. A hard punch right to the left shoulder that makes me stumble back three steps and double over, my hand pressing against my wound as air rushes past my teeth. It throbs already, a dull pulse right in the center where his fist met my shoulder bone. I pull myself upright, vision ever-so-slightly blurred by the water in my eyes.

His face looks almost apologetic, hidden by a thin layer of anger, and he steps toward me, hand outstretched, obviously wanting to look at where he hit, wanting to help.

I punch back, a clean shot – if I do say so myself – right to the center of his abdomen, directly below his ribcage. I know, because I never hit bone. Now it's his turn to double over, but his recovery time is so much quicker than mine (way to go, years of athletic training), and he's only down for a few seconds before he launches himself at me, knocking me to the ground, pinning my small frame below his tall, athletic one. Unfair battle, you see.

I'm struggling against him, but he's hitting me back, actually _hitting_ me, and my blows, accurate as they are, just aren't strong enough and I'm not quite tall enough to inflict any damage, but he certainly is. Fists rain down on me, some making contact, some not, and it's obvious why: I finally open my eyes long enough to see that Stan's eyes are closed, squeezed shut.

Finally, a pair of hands reaches around Stan's body and hauls him off. Kenny's face appears above me after he removes Stan from me. "You okay?"

My wind is gone, so I simply nod. Kenny turns to Stan, who is sitting, like a punished child, cross-legged on the ground. His eyes are cast at his lap, where he laces and unlaces his fingers. "What the _fuck_, dude?" Kenny says, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, do you _want _to go to jail, or juvie, or something? Are you _that_ much of a fucking dumbass?"

"Kenny," I say. "It's fine."

"Uh, no, it's not. Look at you." I look down at myself. My shirt is dirty, torn. There's mud on my arms, and probably my pants. I give him a look and he nods. "I'll go check on Ryder. He's still alive, right?" He glares at Stan, walking past us both. He enters the ice cream shop, and I exhale.

"So," I say, standing. "We gonna talk about it, or just go back to hating each other in silence?" I extend a hand toward him. He looks at it, then pushes himself into a standing position. I drop my hand back to my side. "Good choice," I say with a frown, turning to where my book bag had been cast.

"Wait." His hand touches my elbow, stopping me. "Listen. I'm…"

"Sorry? Well, that's good. For what, though?"

His Adam's apple bobs. "Everything." I nod. "I mean, I'm just so…"

"Confused, yeah. You mentioned."

He glances around us. "Can we not be…so…in the middle of…everything?"

I roll my eyes – again – and take us around to the back of the Inside Scoop, hidden from view. He leans against the outside wall of the parlor, crossing his arms. They're muddy, too. "I can't help it," he says, after a moment. "The thought of _him_—" He jerks his head in the direction of the Inside Scoop. "—doing _that_ to you. And then harassing you. I couldn't…stop thinking about it. It was making me _sick_, you know? Especially him…" He gestures awkwardly, obviously referring to sex, and I'm not sure how I know that, but I do. "I couldn't stop _picturing_ it, and it was making me _crazy_, because you're…" He pauses. "…you're better than that."

I nod. "I guess. It's not like I meant to. I didn't _plan _on it, should I say. I just needed…"

"Sex?"

"Contact. Someone to…be there with me." I frown. "It sounds so pathetic like that. But I just needed to forget…"

"Forget what?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know. I missed you." I had intended it as two separate thoughts, but the connection between them all was too obvious to ignore.

He reaches out, touches my face. I feel my body jerk slightly, and pray the surprise wasn't obvious. "I miss you, too." He presses me against the wall. I replay the prior events in my head, wondering how exactly it lead to this. I lose my train of thought as his lips brush my neck.

"S-Stan." I'm stammering. Fuck. "Stop…stop."

"I don't want to." He kisses my jaw-line. "By the way, I noticed."

"N-noticed?"

"The hair. It's…" A hand presses against my chest. "…great."

I'd like to say that we found ourselves in a mind-blowing kiss, that we stripped right there behind the Inside Scoop and made wild, passionate love, and he confessed that he had left Wendy and had come out to his parents and that he and I were free to ride off into the sunset together as I go down on him.

But that's a fantasy if ever there was one.

Instead, he pulls back, whispers, "I just want everything to be how it was before, you know?" My heart falls. How it was before. The lying, the sneaking around, the cheating…my misery, Wendy's would-be misery. How it was before.

His eyes dive into mine, his hands dropping to the waistband of my jeans. "_Exactly_ how it was…before."

He leans in to kiss me. I punch him in the mouth. He pulls back in a clean jerking motion, hand pressed against his now-bleeding lip. I can't tell if he looks pissed or hurt – all his expressions are meshed together at this point.

"_Don't_ try to manipulate the situation, Stan." A thin line of red has slipped halfway down his chin; he wipes it away with the back of his hand, catching the small bead before it has the chance to completely descend. "Just…don't, okay?" My voice cracks on the last syllable, making my plead sound even more pathetic than it did it my head. Embarrassing. "I can't take any more of it, and I don't want to. Leave Ryder alone, stop trying to fool around with me when you're dating Wendy, and just…just _don't._"

Stan pulls his hand away from his chin. The tiny gash where my knuckle hit his bottom lip seems to be fine – no more blood, anyway. But the dried blood around the lip, and the small amount on his chin, makes him look even more psychotic than he had before, if that was possible. "Fine," he says, looking down at me in a manner that I assume is supposed to be intimidating, but, considering the fact that I just hit him – again – and broke skin kind of ruins the persona. "Do what you want, then, asshole. Fuck around as much as you want – with Kenny, even, if you want. I don't care. Do them both, at once, and I hope it's goddamn _great_. Just don't fool yourself into thinking that I think about _you_, or _any_ guy, when I'm fucking my girlfriend. You just fucking _wish_."

He turns on his heel and walks away, shoulders high and back, fingers clenched, jaw tight. He flips off Kenny and Ryder through the glass doors. Jerk-off.

I wait until he is out of sight to pull back the sleeve of my shirt, exposing my shoulder to the brisk outside air. A lovely purple shade is already beginning to form in an oval shape a few inches from my collarbone. It throbs dully. There are more bruises forming around my arms and chest, I can feel them. Gonna be sore as all hell tomorrow.

He never hit my face.

I don't know whether to be thankful – because I'm not, not at all – or concerned or flattered. I go with _none of the above_ and chalk it up to coincidence; I _had_ been protecting myself pretty well, after all. Maybe he just never got a shot in. He hadn't been thinking clearly anyway.

I steady my breathing, and then reenter the Inside Scoop, where Kenny and Ryder are conversing quietly amongst themselves, Kenny leaning against the counter, head propped up on his hand. They look over at me as I enter, and I give a weak smile in return. "Hey. Ryder, listen, I'm sorry—"

He lifts his hand to silence me. "It's not your fault, Kyle. Your buddy there is just…" He twirls a finger around his ear. "A little insane."

I chuckle. "Still, I feel so responsible."

"You shouldn't. From what Kenny told me, he's just a closet-case gone crazy. It's fine, he never hit me or anything; just a lot of yelling. I'll survive." He grins at me, face brightening and I can see exactly what I saw in him before. Not that I want to pursue him again, because…no thank you. Nonetheless, I can't deny that he's a gorgeous guy.

"You love him?" he asks and I feel my cheeks burning. I'm not one-hundred percent sure why I blush, but there it is.

"Heh, to put it mildly," Kenny interjects, chewing on the handle of a plastic spoon. My eyes flicker toward Kenny for a moment and he gives me a _"What?"_ expression. I nod.

Ryder bobs his head in contemplation as he scoops out a small cup of cotton-candy flavored ice cream and scoots it in front of Kenny. "I can't blame you," he says, watching in mild amusement as Kenny begins to gorge himself on the pink-and-blue cream, his face melted into the unmistakable expression of a five-year-old child. I think I can almost hear the tumultuous chant of _"ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!"_ Ryder and I exchange a bemused look at this.

"He's a real looker," Ryder continues. "And…protective." A wave of discomfiture passes over his face for a split second before he says, "I mean, it's obvious there's something there, you know what I mean? I may be biased, though, seeing as I like you."

"Mm, tha's my pro'lem, too," Kenny says, waving his now-blue spoon around for emphasis. A blue-with-pink-tint droplet plops to the floor. He doesn't notice.

"But, anyway, as far as him being gay? Oh yeah, I see it, too." His brow furrows. "In fact, I wonder why no one suspected." As Kenny opens his mouth, Ryder adds, "Besides Kenny," with a coy, little glance at Kenny, who smiles. "Your mouth is blue, you know."

"You don't like it?" And yet, Kenny wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, I like anything involving your mouth. Anyway, Kyle, just be careful, okay? I'm sure he's a great guy if you like him, but until he's comfortable with himself…he might keep going mental like that."

"Thanks," is all I can think of to say. He offers me a free ice cream, but I refuse. I need to get home, I say. Kenny stays behind, and I'm sure they're doing _something_ in the back room there when I leave. I pick up my book bag from the ground; only a bit of dirt, nothing serious. Even my books and papers are undisturbed. Way to go, Kenny!

Shit, I forgot to thank him. I look back toward the Inside Scoop, weigh the chances of walking in on something I really don't want to see, and then decide to thank Kenny in the morning. I mean, I love the guy, but seeing him naked isn't high on my _Things to Do/See Before I Die_ list. Might not even be on the list at all. Well, okay, I'm a little curious to see what the girls (and guys) are going gaga over, but I'm not really ready to quench that desire just yet. If ever.

Ew.

I glance down at myself. I wonder how believable an excuse, "I fell down," would be in this case. I mean, my face is fine, I think, and I'm not _that_ badly hurt, so I'm sure it's in the realm of possibility. If I was a better liar, it'd be cake.

I chew at a hangnail. I pray Bebe keeps her promise, but I know the chances of that are approximately one-thousand to one, if that. Of all people…

As I stroll home, I prepare my answer to the assumed question of tomorrow. _"Why, yes, I am. But don't worry, you're not my type." "Me? Yeah, I am. So?" "No, I'm not, where'd you get that? Oh, from Bebe? She said what? Well, you can't believe everything you hear." "Fuck off."_ Oh, the possibilities.

My stomach growls. Maybe I should have accepted the free ice cream.

I'm back in front of the school. Everyone has since cleared out, except for the few lone freshmen, waiting patiently (heh, right) for their parents to arrive and take them home. I don't know why they don't just walk – everything in this town is in walking distance – but I don't dwell on the question too long.

I enter my house, toss a wave at my dad, who is currently in some heated discussion with Ike, and go into the kitchen, where my mom is standing, almost seeming as though she was waiting on me. She smiles. "Want a sandwich, Kyle?" she asks. I reply in the affirmative, sitting down at the kitchen table, placing my backpack on the floor beside me. She asks what happened to my shirt, and I reply with my "I fell" response. She seems to believe me; she doesn't press the matter.

"Hi Dad," I say, as my dad enters into the kitchen, Ike in tow. Ike is whining quietly about something-or-other – a video game, from the sounds of it – and my dad is ignoring him, almost professional-like. Impressive, Dad. I wish I had mastered the art of ignoring Ike.

But, alas, I have not, and when Ike turns to me, I have no choice but to listen. "_Kyle_, I asked Dad if I could do extra chores for Lego Batman for the xBox, but he said no, and now he's ignoring me, and _please_ try to get him to see that it's a good idea."

"How's it a good idea?" I ask, tossing Mom a thank-you as she sets my sandwich down in front of me.

"Because then I'm _working _for it. Like a job. I mean, you do work, they pay you, you buy stuff. That's how it works, right? So that's what this is. But I can't do it if he keeps _ignoring_ me." He pouts, plopping down in the seat beside me.

I swallow a bite. "Hey, I'm not getting in the middle of anything. But don't pester the man; you'll never get the money that way."

"_Fine."_ He stands, then stomps into the living room.

"Thank you, Kyle," Dad says, sitting in the seat previously occupied by Ike, and rubs his temple. "That boy was driving me up the wall since I got home. You're a lifesaver."

I take another bite, grinning. "I do try."

"So, how's everything going at school? Doing well, I assume."

"So far, yeah."

"Great." He asks Mom for a cup of water, and she nods, bringing him the glass. "You're a smart kid, Kyle. Any thoughts about colleges you want to visit this coming summer?"

"Colorado State University, for sure," I say, chest swelling at the pride in his expression. "I hear they've got a great four-year program in higher education."

"Oh? Is that a potential career I hear?"

I shrug. "I don't know for sure. I was just thinking maybe I'd like to be a college professor or something. It's a possibility anyway."

"Well, I think you'd do a great job as a teacher, honey," Mom says, kissing the top of my head.

I place the sandwich down onto the plate, wipe my mouth with my napkin. I take time to swallow, enjoying the silence around me as my dad looks over some legal document, as my mom prepares ingredients for dinner.

"Mom, Dad?" They look at me, smiles in their eyes. "I'm gay."

_To Be Continued…_


	20. A Note

Hello each and every one of you,

I know this is not the update you were hoping for, but it does contain good news, so I hope you'll hear me out! :)

Over the years my life has taken hectic turns (not, though, in a bad way). I got married, moved around, got a job, hated my job, and now I'm in graduate school. I never really forgot about this story, but it would generally be a fleeting thought of, "God, I wish I had finished that" and then it would pass, simply because I was so damn busy.

Then, I forgot all of my username/password info, which makes sense, since, duh, I haven't checked anything in God knows how long. But tonight, I sat down on my computer and thought for a minute, "I wonder if I remember..." Logged into , tried the combo I was thinking of, and...it was wrong. So I sent my old email (no idea how I remembered it; I haven't thought of it in years) a password reset, and went to my inbox...

And I read all the review alerts that I had gotten, all of the private messages...I told myself that I wouldn't let it get to me, but oh man...did it ever.

I rarely write for pleasure nowadays. All essays and theses and the like. But I have missed it like I cannot describe. So I glanced through the story and I did a lot of cringing. I mean, I started it seven (SEVEN!) years ago. To say that I have changed is such an understatement. So, here's the deal.

I am going to update this story. And I am going to complete it (for real, this time, though I know I've made that promise before). Since I'm in graduate school, I do very little else than go to class, go to work a few times a week, tops, and...that's about it.

BUT...I cannot bring myself to continue until I fix what makes me cringe. So what I have decided to do is do a Spring Cleaning of sorts on this story. The question I have for you all is: should I do it all at once and update each chapter in this story / do it chapter by chapter as I edit / or, do it all at once, delete this particular story, and create a whole new link?

I'm thinking that I will update the current chapters all at once, update them, then continue writing (kind of like nothing happened...even though we know that's not the case, heh).

All I can say is...thank you. I never thought I would ever be inspired to really WRITE again, especially not on a seven-year-old fanfiction. But I want to, and it's because of your amazing words (both complimentary and honest critiquing). I have appreciated it all, so much.

Love to you all,

Lamia Astaroth

(God, does it feel good to write that again)


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